Warriors, Pink Cakes and 'lil Gray Butts
by Cjay
Summary: Another stirring chapter in the continuing adventures of that delectable hard candy confection, with the soft chewy center, Jack O’Neill.
1. Chapter 1

31

Warriors, Pink Cakes and Little Gray Butts.

By Cjay

_Prologue:_

"Greetings, O'Neill." Thor's throaty salutation echoed ethereally amidst the lingering light's intensity. "Teal'c, it is good of you come. Perhaps between the three of us we may yet appease the council."

Shifting his gaze to his right, General Jack O'Neill noted the big Jaffa frown, and offer a dignified bow to the little nude gray-tinged alien situated serenely beyond the fading glow.

"Thor! It's good to see ya!" Jack called jovially. "Not to worry buddy, we brought snacks!" Catching sight of a long onyx table resting on a similarly inky pedestal, O'Neill strode confidently forward and spilled the contents of the large shopping bag he carried across its gleaming surface.

"Snacks?" Thor's impassive expression and large liquid eyed gaze belied his incredulous tone.

"Yes, snacks..." Jack's brows rose and fell with his words. "… Along with common sense and…"

"Your people's ignorance has unleashed the Ori on a helpless galaxy and you believe mere foodstuffs will mollify the council's wrath?" Thor expounded.

Ignoring Thor's skepticism, Jack sorted through the colorful pile, until he found several small brightly colored packages. Tearing one packet open, he brandished the thick cube nestled inside. "I seem to remember the effect these ostensibly innocuous little pink cakes had on a certain unnamed alien in the past… and simply figured on hedging my bets."

"O'Neill, you plan to manipulate the council by means of intoxication?" Thor surmised with disbelief, fixing his gaze lustfully on the small cube.

"Manipulate? Me?" Noting Thor's huge pupils dilate with greedy anticipation, Jack extended the tiny square. "I prefer the word cajole."

Unable to resist, Thor accepted the small cake and popped it into his already watering mouth. His overabundant saliva quickly dispersed the cube's minute particles into his vulnerable bloodstream. "It's a diabolical scheme, O'Neill."

Savoring the dextrose rushing through his tiny body, the alien's enormous eyes close with ecstasy. "One must never underestimate your unique ability to find a solution to any given problem."

"Indeed, O'Neill your stratagem is both unconventional and stark." Teal'c responded darkly. "However..." He continued with admiration, "…one cannot deny its simplistic beauty."

"Ya think?" Jack granted with barely concealed delight. "I do have my moments."

_Several days earlier, near the Pentagon:_

Eyeing a partially crumpled scrap of paper clutched tightly in his left hand, Major Ronan 'Rowdy' Mortensen tugged at the pristine collar of his uniform. Having spent the better part of this searing August afternoon scouring both Arlington and Washington D.C., hunting for the numerous items scrawled across the paper, he was hot, tired, and frankly, incredibly pissed off. Unfortunately for him, his search was far from over. One lone item, which graced the very top of O'Neill's 'necessity list,' remained unaccounted for.

A decorated veteran of the Gulf and Iraq wars, Mortensen hated politics, butt kissing and deception. Therefore, his dealings with the bureaucratic types had so far lacked finesse. A talent he quickly learned would be vital to his survival if he were to successfully maneuver through the political morass known as the nation's capital. Fortunately, his size thirteen's had barely gotten wet when he'd suddenly been reassigned to the Pentagon's new shining star, General Jack 'The Maverick' O'Neill, as his aide-de-camp.

Mortensen's own reputation was as colorful as O'Neill's. Surviving in a battle situation required lightening reflexes, strength of character, an agile mind and the ability to 'manipulate' the rules. Commanding others in the midst of that kind of hell, also demanded a finely tuned sense of humor, one liberally flavored with irony. A gift, his dubious mother often complained Ronan had been born with, along with an inability to remain still for more than a millisecond, and earning him his rather unique call sign or moniker - Rowdy.

To date his forced attachment to the Pentagon offered little in the way of satisfaction for a warrior. Rowdy rapidly discovered that the Pentagon contained too few real champions for his taste. However, he did enjoy reading the highly classified and enlightening documents he was now privy too. Learning that O'Neill had personally saved Earth's collective ass on more than one occasion and that he'd quite literally been among the first to journey light years away, via a wormhole no less, gave Mortensen's new posting an altogether different flavor.

The junior officer hoped to strike-up a rapport with his new commander, but so far the tightlipped, taciturn O'Neill hadn't displayed much warmth. In point of fact, the general's first request effectively reduced his new assistant to little more than an errand boy and added to the major's mounting frustration.

Drawing on his innate ability to find the humor in most situations, Rowdy subdued his ire. Contemplating the peculiar contents of the enormous shopping bag, resting against his left shin, he grinned slyly. Maybe this whole 'shopping for a top secret diplomatic mission's essentials' thing was some kind of test. If so, he planned to pass it with flying colors.

Ignoring his aching feet, Rowdy hefted the bag and marched determinedly along to his eleventh specialty shop. Grasping the ornate door's brass knob, he pushed his way inside. Angling the bag carefully, the major made his way along the cramped isles toward an aged and squat little man standing behind an old-fashioned wooden counter at the back of the establishment.

The bald little man's rheumy blue eyes and wizened face tilted upward quizzically in order to meet Rowdy's inquiring gaze. At six foot four, Mortensen's own piercing hazel orbs stood at least ten inches higher. "Hello there sonny, what can I do ya for?"

Allowing the heavy bag to settle near his feet, Rowdy leaned forward slightly. Scanning the massive collection of toothsome delicacies displayed within the smudged glass beneath the old counter, he sighed dramatically. "Well sir, I hope you can help me out. I've been just about everywhere and the fact is I've almost given up hope."

"Here now, we can't have that." The man responded soothingly. "I've been in this business for fifty-nine years and have yet to allow an unsatisfied customer to walk out of my shop, especially one of our lads in uniform."

Waddling around from behind the counter, he grasped Rowdy's elbow and steered him toward a tall stool tucked neatly in one corner. "Now then young fellow, take a seat and tell me what you've got a yen for. If it's still on the market somewhere Uncle Jerome's Candy Emporium stocks it!"

Thrusting the crumpled list into the old man's hand, Rowdy dutifully perched atop the stool. "It's not for me it's for my commanding officer – a supposed matter of international importance."

"International importance?" Uncle Jerome patted the overstuffed shopping bag and huffed loudly, reading over the list. "And, I see you've found almost everything too, save the first and I assume, singularly most important item."

Snorting loudly, he shook his naked pate. "Judging from this, I think it's far more likely your boss has a sweet tooth the size of Texas!" Offering a sidelong glance, Jerome pitched his voice conspiratorially. "Is he a cantankerous rotund sort?"

Grinning broadly, Rowdy shook his own dark curly head. "Not at all sir, fact is the general is exceptionally fit. If anything he's rather thin."

"I see." Jerome interjected with a knowing wink. "Oh, and please call me Uncle Jerome, being referred to as 'sir' makes me feel positively ancient."

"Of course, si…Uncle Jerome." Rowdy agreed theatrically. "As for the general's disposition, I don't really know, this is my first day as his aide."

"Ah!" Uncle Jerome's animated face beamed with understanding. "So then, this is a test. Hah, we'll show him!"

Hurrying back behind the counter, he motioned for Rowdy to join him. "You're in luck, dear boy. I just got a new shipment in this morning!"

"Rowdy, please." Relieved, the major quickly made his way to the older man's side. "Here, let me lift that." Picking the good-sized carton up from the floor, he happily placed the heavy box on the counter. "Uncle Jerome, you're a lifesaver!"

"Not quite, but for your sake I am grateful that I ordered every flavor available." Neatly slicing the thick tape sealing the box with a small penknife, Jerome pushed aside a layer of packing material to reveal the treasures nestled inside. "Your general is going to be very pleased with you Rowdy, very pleased indeed." Wearing a Cheshire cat grin, he reached within the carton and drew out several small red, white and blue packets.

Taking in the colorful heap, Rowdy returned the genial proprietor's smile. "One can only hope."

Sensing something more than simple sincerity in the young man's light tone, Jerome angled his double chin toward the stool in the corner. "Now that we've completed his list, suppose you tell me more about this exceptional general of yours…"

o

Briskly exiting the elevator, General Jack O'Neill tucked several thick files beneath his left arm. Contemplating the complexities involved in Earth's current state of affairs gave him one hell of a headache. Topping the list of problems was the 'Ba'al goes Wall Street' situation.

Why, oh why, did that slimy snakehead have to choose the good old U.S.A. as his new habitat? Oh yes, Jack so bought the 'I just wish to live out my life here in peace' line of crap. Jeez, how lame! Revenge was a more plausible explanation. Eradicating his ass was the only option, but for now the smarmy son-of-a-bitch had faded from sight.

Jack unconsciously rubbed one hand over the long healed, half-remembered wounds the evil ex-god once inflicted on his person and shelved the matter. Glancing at his watch, he wondered how Mortensen was fairing with his shopping list; delegating the task of stocking up on a few 'basics' for his upcoming diplomatic mission served several purposes, not the least of which was testing the major's character.

Jack would have preferred to make the unique purchases himself. Unfortunately, unfamiliarity with his new surroundings, coupled with his inability to get away, left few options.

Taking over Hammond's old duties was becoming a habit. And, he supposed, truth be told, a good fit. With one very glaring exception, this time the assistant that came with the job was a self-important little popinjay with absolutely no battlefield experience. O'Neill tolerated his pomposity precisely forty-eight hours. Then, throwing caution to the wind in his usual manner, hustled his butt to General Jumper for a little one-on-one.

oo

General Jumper took one look at his resident rogue officer wearing a carefully innocent expression and knew he was in for trouble. "Alright Jack, out with it."

Jack batted his eyes blankly. "Sir?"

Jumper leaned back in his big comfy chair, releasing a loud, world-weary sigh. "Do not deign to insult my intelligence Jack. You want something."

Jack's eyes crinkled. "I'd like the opportunity of choosing a new aide-de-camp."

"I see." Jumper pursed his lips, biting back a snort. 'Ha! Hammond owes me a twenty.' "I'm curious Jack; the man is…"

O'Neill's nostrils flared with distaste; his deep brown eyes lost their usual light. "Major Perkins is a self-righteous, self-involved popinjay, sir."

"Well, there is that." Jumper allowed. "You do realize the major is highly qualified. Hammond had no complaints." Pausing dramatically, the general inhaled deeply. "However…if you're not satisfied, I'll gladly reassign him. What about the man you left behind at the SGC?"

"No sir, I'd prefer to find someone else, if I may." Jack leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Old Walter is a gem, a tad too anal and more than a trace persnickety at times, but nonetheless a gem. However, he's also an integral part of Stargate Command and you might say he's…ah…looking after things for me, sir…"

"Looking after things? Don't you mean quietly keeping you in the loop, Jack?" Jumper finished for him sagely hiding a smile.

Caught, O'Neill grimaced and cleared his throat. "That too, General."

'Ouch, I'll bet that cost ya, Jack.' Jumper ran a thoughtful hand over his chin and coughed lightly. "Fine, I'll have a list of available candidates sent to your office this afternoon."

Rising, he ushered O'Neill to the door, "Any suggestions as to Perkins' next posting?"

"Well, General Jumper, sir, I've given that a good deal of thought." Jack grinned wryly. "It seems to me the man's complexion is woefully pasty. He needs to get out in the sun more. I was thinking a desert climate might add color to his cheeks."

"Pasty you say?" Jumper responded sardonically. "Well we can't have that, can we Jack."

o

Perkins was reassigned that very afternoon, leaving behind a relieved and pensive two-star general. Who, for the first time in years, was feeling completely alone and out of his element.

Irishman though he was, O'Neill rarely entertained illusions. Nope, he knew his own limitations all too well. Comfortable in his own skin, Jack was smart enough to accept the unvarnished truth; SG-1's unique characteristics had complemented his quirky style. And, their absence left him feeling more than a bit exposed. Okay, so for the past year or so he hadn't technically been a part of SG-1. However, he'd still been their C.O. and thus, they'd been on his six.

Frankly, as long as he was traversing the lofty depths of this unknown stratosphere, O'Neill preferred to be supported by an aide he could trust. Someone gifted with an unbridled sense of loyalty and honor, capable of bending the rules, just a tad, graced with more than a dash of humor, who had their priorities straight - in short, an officer whose character more accurately mirrored his own.

During his first days here inside the big five-sided geometric monstrosity known as the Pentagon, Jack read more than a dozen candidates' dossiers. Each and every text painted a vivid image of another butt-kissing, mold-perfect, by-the-book type, guaranteed to make the skin on the back of his neck crawl. Refusing to capitulate, Jack and his stack of files stomped along to the commissary for a bite.

Haunted by the echoes of despair's old familiar anthem, O'Neill chanced to overhear another general complaining about Mortensen's 'lack of polish.' Intrigued, he summoned Rowdy's record; by page two, Jack was confident he'd found his man. Consequently, the major was immediately assigned the thankless job of keeping General Jack 'I so hate paperwork' O'Neill on top of things.

The door to his outer office stood open. Jack silently took in Mortensen, his head studiously bent as he busily sorted through a pile of mail. The man was a seasoned veteran and yet, sitting there with the last vestiges of sunlight streaming through the window illuminating his unmarked, slightly freckled face, he looked impossibly young.

You wouldn't know it to look at him, but the kid's last assignment had taken him to hell and back. In order to save several of his men from certain death, Mortensen had bent the rules and sustained injuries to his spine so severe that he'd been relegated to a desk job. Jack's compassion led him to wonder if the still vivid scars forever marking the youngster's flesh had also marred his soul.

Glancing up, Rowdy spied the general hovering on the threshold and jumped to his feet, smoothly assuming a rigid posture of attention. "Good evening, sir, I trust your meeting went well?"

"At ease, Mortensen." Taking in the small mountain gracing the major's desk, Jack arched an inquiring brow, waving a dismissive hand. "Anything urgent?"

"Nothing here sir, just a phone message from Dr. Daniel Jackson requesting you contact him." Relaxing, Rowdy tucked his hands behind his back. "He implied that the matter could wait, but I believe I detected an undercurrent of urgency in his tone."

"Ah!" Jack's thick gray brows rose and fell as his head bobbed briefly. "Well then, I'd best return the good doctor's call. See if you can get him on the horn for me, will ya?"

Jack made to enter his own office and stopped short. Pivoting on his heels, he cocked his head to one side and inquired lightly, "Oh, how was the shopping expedition, Major?"

Noting the twinkle in his commanding officer's brown eyes, Rowdy responded blithely, "Enlightening, sir. I left the items on your desk for inspection."

"Excellent!" Jack crowed with anticipation.

Smiling, Rowdy watched the general stride happily into his office for a moment.

Apparently O'Neill's new aide had just passed his first test. Loosening his tie, the major dutifully moved to the phone.

oo

Jack gleefully examined the numerous packages of varying size lined up neatly on one side of his desk. Yes! The kid had succeeded in finding each and every item he'd scrawled on his list. No mean feat, as he hadn't seen more than a few of the elusive labels tantalizing his sweet tooth in more than a few years. Nor, had he really thought about them. In fact, the lad had found several varieties, even Jack, a consummate connoisseur of confection, hadn't heard of!

The phone's jarring jangle rudely called him back from his reverie. Fingering the tiny pile of receipts Mortensen had carefully placed beneath his favorite Yo-Yo, Jack picked up the handset. "Daniel?"

"Jack." Danny's voice responded evenly.

"Daniel." Jack countered. How he missed their daily banter.

"So, how are things?" Daniel inquired with studied nonchalance.

"Okay, Jackson, spill it. What's wrong?" Jack demanded suspiciously. Usually their little game went on a bit longer and besides, he knew that tone. It was the same tone Danny used to inform him that he'd been hoodwinked by that sinuous femme fatale, Vala. And, the exact same approach he'd used to inform O'Neill of the twosome's inadvertent involvement with the interfering Ori. "What have those pesky Oreos done now?"

"Nothing, that is…." Daniel began hesitantly. "Jack I'm calling about Teal'c."

Jack's bushy brows shot up sharply "Oh? What about him?"

"He's… well if I didn't know better I'd say he's depressed." Daniel lowered his voice. "I was wondering if you could talk to him."

"Me?" Stunned, Jack rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yes, you." Daniel tossed back. "Look, I know you hate getting involved with anything touchy-feely…"

"Don't go there Daniel." Jack growled.

Ignoring the warning, Daniel pressed on, "Face it Jack, despite an occasional lack of verbal expertise, you my friend have a gift for getting to the crux of a problem."

"Jeez, has anyone every told you you're a nudge?" Jack whined.

"Seems a certain Irishman has lodged that complaint on more than one occasion." Daniel countered dryly.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Have you tried boxing? Maybe all he needs is…."

"I tried that route, he beat the living crap out of me, but nothing changed. Sam tried getting him involved in a weekend trip to see Cassie and that was a bust…hell, even Mitchell gave it a shot…he just refuses to discuss whatever is bothering him." Daniel's voice cracked in frustration. "Jack, he's barely eating."

Teal'c not eating? This was serious. "Okay, Daniel I get the picture…." O'Neill pinched the bridge of his nose. "What's your status?"

"We're on stand down for the next week." Daniel replied.

"Perfect." Tucking the handset beneath his chin, Jack fired up his computer. "No worries Danny boy, just relax and leave the T-man to me."

ooo

Jack sat back, stretching his long arms overhead. Sinking deeper into the supple contours of his thickly padded leather chair, he yawned and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, inhaling with satisfaction. One quick phone call to Landry, a few e-mails and viol-la! - the plot was in motion. Squinting at the vast array of goodies gracing his desk, he scratched his head thoughtfully.

Pushing up from the chair, he paced back and forth studying the various colorful treats. Hmm, what in the blue blazes was missing? Everything had to be just right or all his scheming would be for naught.

Catching sight of the large shopping bag, he stooped to peer within. Spotting a small golden business card at the bottom, he was startled to see a familiar name scribbled in bold block letters along its edge. "What's this, a golden ticket?"

Bending from the waist, Jack fished the 2x2 card from the depths of the bag. Beside the standard business address a small notation had been added. Jack scanned it smartly and smirked. Checking his watch, he hastily shutdown his computer, grabbed his hat, and hustled out the door.

Striding past his diligent aide, he nodded pleasantly. "Quitting time, Mortensen. Go on home and get some supper, I'll see you in the morning."

Rowdy stood, returning the nod. "Shall I summon you car, general?"

"Nah, I need to stretch my legs, night." Tucking his military cover under his arm, Jack shrugged, barely breaking stride. "Oh, by the way, Rowdy, you're one hell-of-a-shopper."

"Ah, thank you, sir." Flushing with pleasure, Rowdy inclined his head and added, "Have a good evening."

The general's lighthearted reply echoed in the corridor, "Ya-sure-ya-betcha!"

oo

Teal'c slumped morosely over his laptop reviewing his latest mission report. Following the events of the past month, General Landry had accepted his re-instatement to Stargate Command with little commentary. While he found the new commander an honorable leader, Teal'c missed O'Neill's simplistic talent for seeing past deceit and subtleties. Ever candid, he'd a penchant for getting directly to the heart of a matter. And, now that it was gone from his days, the normally serious Jaffa felt bereft of O'Neill's unabashed ironic wit.

Releasing a long sigh, the world-weary former rebel leader wondered what his brother-of-the-soul thought of his current situation. Gerak's manipulations and secretive intrigues had effectively usurped Teal'c's influence with the fledgling Jaffa government, sapping both his power and much of his dignity.

After years of struggle, his people were finally free, but what of the cost? Had his sacrifice, his years of separation from his family, the persecution he'd suffered at the hands of the Goa'uld false gods, been of so little consequence?

His previously silent computer noisily interrupted his dark thoughts.

Using his finger as a mouse, Teal'c opened his e-mail's inbox. Noting the subject attached to the new e-mailing, he arched his left brow. It read: Pentagon, General J. O'Neill; urgent request.

Intrigued, the glum warrior opened the text and began to read its cryptic contents.

Teal'c;

Hop the next plane out of there; I need your help regarding a pressing and delicate matter of intergalactic proportion.

Your official orders to follow.

O'Neill.

The big Jaffa was busy pondering the significance of O'Neill's unexpected request when a terse knock resounded on the metallic door to his quarters.

Rising, he pulled the portal open to find an airman standing just beyond, and subtly inclined his head. "What is it, Airman?"

The young man maintained a respectful posture, eyes firmly focused on the bigger man's massive chest. "Orders, sir."

As soon as the envelope was accepted, the airman nodded, then spun on his heels and was gone.

His curiosity mounting, Teal'c broke the seal. Drawing forth the letter within, he rapidly read a set of sketchy orders confirming his immediate assignment to General Jack O'Neill for temporary duty. Noting his current commanding officer's concurrent authorization, along with his flight assignment, he efficiently gathered a few necessities and made ready to depart.

oo

Mentally twiddling his thumbs, Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell rested casually against the smooth hull of the X-303 awaiting his co-pilot. Receiving O'Neill's order to fly Teal'c directly to Washington for some highfalutin diplomatic mission hadn't set real well. Hell, he'd just gotten the old band together again! Nope, hadn't set well at all, until he'd gotten to the part about flying the big man over in one of these babies. Yes sir, the wily general knew just how to placate him.

Now most folks who'd nearly died in one of these metal birds would've stayed clean away, but Cameron, well…Cam loved to fly. Fact was he reveled in the sensation of flight. It made him feel truly alive; and never more so then when he'd been hurtling out of control to his imminent death into a vast icy wasteland of frozen tundra. It was the hard landing and dying slowly in the frigid cold that'd sucked.

O'Neill had asked him once; back when he'd made a visit to the hospital Cameron languished in for far too long, if he'd do it again. Without missing a stroke, Cam answered, "In a heartbeat!" That was when the general had promised him a place at Stargate Command; had effectively given him, a man broken in both body and soul, the will to fight once more. And now here he was again, leaning against the metallic source of his greatest joy and sorrows itching to ascend and soar amidst the heavens. Where the heck was Teal'c anyway?

o

Teal'c thanked the driver and exited the Jeep. The sight of Colonel Mitchell's flight-suit clad form leaning against the proud craft gave him pause. Perhaps O'Neill's plans included the colonel as well? Inclining his head regally, he pulled on his gloves. "Colonel Mitchell, I was unaware that you'd be piloting the craft. I look forward to our mutual journey."

Pushing off the cool metal, Mitchell grinned lazily. "Back at ya Teal'c. Now what say we get ourselves airborne?"

Sharing the colonel's eagerness, Teal'c ran a gloved hand lovingly over the sleek belly of the fighter. "Indeed."

ooo

General Jack O'Neill strolled confidently along Arlington's pavement ignoring the crush of passersby. He wasn't fond of living or working in a big city. A city drew crowds; its buildings stretched upwards, enveloped you and obscured the heavens, making it almost impossible to glimpse the sky. Frankly, he preferred to live in more wide-open spaces. Hell, he missed Colorado, missed climbing atop his roof to gaze at the ebony expanse of midnight with her glittering collection of bright jewel-like stars.

Jack's carefully hidden artistic side relished this time of day almost as much. When nature's light surrendered to shadow; a darkening firmament smudged with purple hued streaks, scattered over a pink and orange backdrop, lending an air of tranquility to the end of day. Ah yes, the gloaming, twilight: that period of fading light after sunset just before dark. His unconscious photographic memory elicited an ironic snort. 'Jeez, O'Neill sometimes you can be such a nerd!'

Arriving at his destination, Jack took a moment to run fond eyes over the establishment's cluttered display windows; then firmly grasped the ancient brass doorknob.

oo

Jerome waddled to the rear of the store and hit the main light switch, casting his little shop into deep shade. He'd waited as long as he could; Emma would begin to worry if he didn't arrive home soon. Puffing his cheek with regret, he secured the antique cash register and turned to make his way to the front door.

The tinkling of the little bell above the entry heralded a lone figure's arrival; tall and slender, the dark form was haloed by dusk's fading light. Jerome was at first, more than a bit disconcerted, but then, something in the man's stance seemed familiar. "It's about time; I was beginning to think I'd made a mistake."

Stepping forward, Jack doffed his cap. "More than a few, I'd wager."

o0o

Teal'c would have preferred to fly first seat. However, sensing the unfettered joy with which Colonel Mitchell piloted the craft, he wisely sat back and relinquished control.

The young officer was much like O'Neill in both tenacity and temperament. Great suffering had forged them both into warriors of immeasurable strength of will and character. Teal'c was honored to serve with each. Still, Mitchell did not possess O'Neill's uniquely inherent ability to 'read him like a book.'

"Are you always this quiet, Teal'c?" Mitchell's voice inquired with studied indifference.

"Indeed." Teal'c responded, hiding a smile. Yes, he was much like O'Neill. "Was there a matter you wished to discuss, Colonel Mitchell?"

oo

Cameron never knew the word 'indeed' could be used in so many ways. The Jaffa's very formal use of English sometimes made him feel like an ignorant cracker. "Well shucks, I was hoping we could use this time to get to know one another."

"I see." Teal'c released a long breath. "Have you not read my file?"

Cameron thought he detected a spark of humor in the Jaffa's liquid baritone. Then again, he wasn't quite sure. Teal'c had been much too serious of late; no doubt a result of that carpet bagging huckster Gerak's machinations. "I have, but one's dossier tends to be rather two dimensional. I'd like to get to know you, not your image. Ya know what I mean?"

"My, image?" Teal'c echoed.

"Yeah, I mean don't you get tired of being a mysterious icon?" Cameron paused, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped cockpit. "Okay, never mind. Look, isn't there something about me that's sparked your curiosity?"

"Indeed. On occasion you're pattern of speech is most unusual." Teal'c acknowledged affably. "O'Neill's speech often differed from the norm, as well. However, your discourse posses a softer, almost lilting, quality. No doubt your upbringing influenced your use of language; I'd be most interested in hearing about the manner in which you were nurtured."

Nurtured? The term made Cam chuckled lightly. 'Yeah, I guess one could say I was "nurtured" at that.'

Sobering, he began his response thoughtfully; "I was born and raised a child of the South. And I guess you could say my grandmother was the one who nurtured me. She was a grand lady, what we call a steel magnolia; one minded her or incurred her wrath. Although, truth be told, her wrath was rather genteel and cultured."

"A sage woman." Teal'c's tone reflected admiration.

Cameron nodded in agreement. "That she was, Teal'c. My youthful rather hedonistic tendencies were often tempered by her influence. She wanted me to be a Southern officer and a gentleman, like my daddy and his daddy before him."

"Your lineage then, is that of a warrior." Teal'c concluded sensibly.

"You could say that. My family has been singing Dixie since the first shot was fired at Fort Sumter." Cameron drawled proudly. "I am the first however, to be a member of the Air Force."

"Your sire did not serve in the same manner?" Teal'c questioned curiously.

"Ho no, my daddy was Marine." Cameron responded softly.

"Jaffa males customarily follow in the footsteps of their ancestors." The big Jaffa replied. "Did your sire object to your deviation from his path?"

Cameron hesitated, lost in the silence of regret and remembrance.

Teal'c's sepulcher baritone pierced the silence. "Are you well, Colonel Mitchell?"

"What? Oh, sorry." Embarrassed, Cameron cleared his throat. "No, he didn't object. You see, we…ah…lost him in the Viet Nam Conflict."

"I too lost my father to the ravages of war. It would appear we have much in common." The Jaffa's grave tone offered commiseration.

Briefly stunned by that notion, the pair shared a moment of companionable tranquility.

"I too had a grandmother." The Jaffa's regal whisper echoed within the cockpit.

"Did you now?" Heartened, Cameron checked the controls, adjusting a few settings. "Tell me about her. Did she have a voice like molasses and a will of iron?"

"Indeed." Teal'c concurred fondly. "She was a very gifted woman. She made the most delectable honeyed cakes. I can still savor their flavor melting against my tongue."

"Whew we, sounds like my granny's key lime pie!" Mitchell crowed gleefully, gratefully sharing the moment. "Tell me more."

"Ah, well… perhaps you'd enjoy hearing of her penchant for the brewing and sampling of ambrosia nectar?" Teal'c intoned.

Indeed." Cameron replied jovially.

ooo

"It's been too long Jack." Jerome rushed forward smothering the taller man's hand in his, shaking it enthusiastically.

"Ya think?" Jack quipped, returning the little man's handclasp with a mischievous grin.

Jerome let go of his long lost friend, waddled over to post the closed sign on the front door, and then ushered Jack to the rear of the cluttered shop. "Come on in back and let me have a good look at you. Oh, I'd better give Emma a quick call and have her set another place for dinner. She's made a pot roast!"

"Sounds good to me. Do you think she made those little red potatoes too?" Jack's fingers mimicked the size; his mouth watered.

"You have to ask?" Jerome tossed back wryly, dialing the phone.

"Ah! One thing before we go, Jerome." Jack flipped on the lights. "I need to make a purchase."

"Forget to add something to that lengthy list of yours, General?" Jerome's stubby finger hovered in mid-air.

"Do I detect a hint of censure in your tone, Jerome?" Jack's brows shot skyward.

"No, but the lad did tramp needlessly all over the city searching for those goodies. I'm more than a bit distressed that you did not send him to me from the outset." Jerome replied, entering the final numbers into the keypad. Placing the handset to his ear, he waited for his wife's answer on the other end of the line.

"Sheesh!" Jack tossed his cap onto the counter and thrust his hands in his pockets. "I forgot something, okay? I'm just not sure what exactly…" Rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, he shrugged; his voice a mere whisper. "The kid got to ya, didn't he?"

"Much as another lost youngster once did." Jerome gazed at his friend askance. Hearing his wife's sweet voice answer, he smiled. "Mama, set another place for dinner, I'm bringing home a surprise!"

Wandering amongst the shelves, Jack used the time to search for the elusive item he sought. Some things never change, he thought, Jerome was still running the show.

Listening for a moment, Jerome shook his head. "No, if I tell you it will not be a surprise will it? Now be a love and set that place, we'll be along shortly."

Hanging up the phone, Jerome watched Jack move lithely through the shop searching the shelves. "I suspect that young man's been through a nightmare recently, hasn't he Jack?"

"Yep." Jack answered distractedly, stooping to check a large lower bin.

"I see, so you've taken him under your wing then?" Jerome settled his bulk on the stool in the corner and crossed his arms.

"Okay." Jack grudgingly allowed, still pouring over the shelves. "So, I hoped he'd find his way here…but mainly, I needed the snacks."

Jerome covered his mouth with a chubby hand. Jack was like one of his confections, a delectable piece of hard candy with a soft chewy center.

"Besides, the kid is my assistant, he's supposed to run errands for me. I'm a busy man these days, ya know." Jack added defensively, sensing Jerome's smile.

"No doubt." Jerome sighed. "What happened to him, Jack?"

"Ah, ha!" Jack chortled, snagging a bulky package from a top shelf. "Here it is. I knew you'd have it!"

"Hah! I thought you weren't sure what you needed." Jerome snorted derisively. "What happened to Rowdy, Jack?"

Spinning, O'Neill shot Jerome a temperate look. "Not my story to tell, you'll need to ask the kid."

Slapping the packet against his thigh, Jack reached for his wallet. Tossing a crisp bill on the counter, he pocketed his billfold.

Scooping up his hat, O'Neill set it jauntily on his silvery head and waggled his thick gray brows. "Don't worry, he'll be back and then, you can use your own personal slick forms of interrogation on him - like Emma's cooking."

Tucking the bill into a charity jar, Jerome flipped the lights out once more. Beaming, he took Jack's arm. "Don't you ever tire of playing the hard case, Jack my boy?"

"Who's playing?" Jack barked, feigning chagrin. "I'm a bad-assed heartless old bastard of a general."

"I have no doubt that you can be a very bad boy when it suits you, General O'Neill." Jerome spouted unimpressed, locking the front door. "And, that usually you can be quite an ass, but a heartless bastard? Never. Now come on, I'm hungry!"

"You'd be surprised." Jack whispered under his breath. "Oh yeah, very surprised."

ooo

Securing the X-303 within a hanger, Mitchell took note of a fresh-faced airman, standing in the shimmering glow of predawn light alongside an awaiting Jeep. Pulling his flight bag from under the seat, he tucked his helmet inside the cockpit and jumped lightly to the ground, following Teal'c's lead.

As they drew closer, the airman's pale blue eyes traveled rapidly over the Jaffa's impressive form and impassive face. Flittering curiously over the peculiar golden emblem embedded in Teal'c's dark forehead, the youngster's bright orbs rounded in astonishment. Shifting his gaze to the colonel's amused expression; he regained his composure and snapped a proper salute. "Morning, sirs."

Hearing the syrup-smooth tones of the South in the man's voice, Mitchell returned the salute, his eyes twinkling. "At ease, airman."

Visibly relieved, the younger man smiled pleasantly. "If you'd be good enough to stow your gear in the back of the Jeep, sir, I'll take you directly to the general's office."

Bowing slightly, Teal'c silently vaulted into the rear of the open vehicle, leaving the colonel to ride shotgun. Once the pair was seated, the lad climbed behind the wheel turned the key, shifted quickly and took off at breakneck speed.

Yikes, besides being built like a howitzer, the airman was a lead foot. Mitchell braced himself and tossed Teal'c an uneasy glance. The Jaffa's countenance reflected unconcerned serenity. Cameron tightened his grip on the roll bar, set his teeth and muttered a silent prayer.

ooo

Jack moseyed along the corridor leading to his fifth floor office whistling happily, his mind abuzz with anticipation. It'd be good to spend a few days with the T-man; he'd missed Teal'c's unwavering support and understated wit. If, as Daniel insisted, Teal'c's mood was gloomy, O'Neill was confident that the contents of the paper sack he'd tucked inside his coat pocket would bring the big guy at least a degree of pleasure.

Pushing open his office door, O'Neill was welcomed by the enticing aroma of fresh brewed coffee. Moving lithely inside, he set his trim duffle bag alongside the percolating coffeemaker and poured himself a large mug.

Inhaling appreciatively, he closed his eyes, "MMMM…hazelnut!"

Gratefully sipping the rich brew, the general slid behind his desk and into his chair.

Noting the absence of his small treasure-trove of goodies from the desktop, Jack glanced about and spied the overstuffed shopping bag resting alongside his chair. Ah! Apparently his efficient aide had repacked the stockpile. 'Excellent!' Removing his latest acquisition from his pocket, he stuffed it deep inside the bag.

The kid might be physically absent this morning, but his existence was certainly evident. Besides making coffee, Mortensen had already set a couple of messages on his desk blotter for inspection. Yes, replacing the tea swilling, supercilious Perkins with Mortensen was working out just fine.

Taking another long sip from his slightly bitter cup of java, Jack thoughtfully rubbed a hand over his chin.

He'd expected Mortensen's absence this morning. Out of rehab barely a month, Rowdy still required daily physical therapy sessions. As his commander, O'Neill was privy to the major's medical condition. Having received more than a few dents and dings of his own, Jack understood all too well that Rowdy was still on the mend, and that he resented it mightily. Oh yeah, O'Neill had been there, done that, gotten the tee shirt - and spit in more than one frustrated therapist's eye himself.

However, O'Neill the seasoned veteran suspected something more than a half-healed injury was troubling the major; he'd seen his own reflection enough times in the mirror to recognize another soul in pain. Despite his propensity for keeping his compassionate nature under wraps and minding his own business, Jack was concerned.

Being a good officer and team leader was a balancing act of discipline, compassion, support and - when the occasion arose - taking on the role of Yiddish mama. Sighing, he refilled his coffee mug. For the moment Jack would respect the major's privacy, but if the opportunity presented itself, he planned to have a heart-to-heart with his new aide.

Glancing at the large glass clock hanging above his favorite portrait of Charlie, he sat back to contemplate the intricacies of his upcoming diplomatic mission and await the dull pitter-patter of large booted feet.

ooo

Denying the residual pain in his spine, Rowdy moved briskly through the Pentagon's massive entry door and stopped short. A squad of Military Police tore past him intent on intercepting a large black man attempting to make his way through the dual archway of the facility's obligatory metal detector. Accompanied by a slender Air Force colonel, who was trying to defuse the situation, the massive fellow's manner in the midst of chaos was sedate. Turning slightly, he eyed the armed contingent with a detached air of princely dignity and calmly raised his hands.

Catching sight of the distinctive golden emblem perched above his arched brows; Rowdy recognized the legendary Teal'c and rushed into the fray. "Everybody just simmer down! General O'Neill is expecting this man; he's no threat to you!"

Mitchell spun on his heels, his nimble eyes taking the major's measure with one quick glance. "Finally, look here Major will you tell these guys that Teal'c is not a terrorist?"

Gunnery Sergeant Adams five foot four inch frame bristled with irritation. His pugnacious mug glared upward attempting to see eye-to-eye with the taller officer. "We're not letting this…this intruder anywhere near the general!"

Visibly battle-ready, Adams left eye twitched, "He set off the metal detectors and the only place this guy's headed is…"

Exasperated, Mortensen set his jaw and donned the mantle of command. "Enough!" He snapped coldly, eyeing the hyper-alert security force surrounding Teal'c. "Sergeant, you and your men will stand down!"

Noting Colonel Mitchell's starched stance, he went on, "I am not in the habit of repeating myself, Adams. However, as you're intentions are pure, I will elaborate. Mr. Teal'c is a respected cultural attaché. And, as such, poses no threat to this facility."

Moving past the prickly marine, Rowdy snagged a handheld metal detector. "Furthermore, he's a personal friend of General O'Neill's and a valued member of Colonel Mitchell's team…"

"You've got that right." Mitchell interjected haughtily.

Running the device over Teal'c's massive frame, the major was gratified when it remained silent – that is, until he reached the big man's gold encrusted forehead. "Just as I suspected, Sergeant you've been undone by this man's metallic tattoo; you and your men will stand down immediately! Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir." Narrowing his eyes, Adams inhaled and relaxed his stance. "Let him go boys."

The marine's surrounding the unperturbed Jaffa stepped back, allowing Mitchell to sidle up to his comrade. "Thanks for the impressive floorshow gentlemen. Now if you'll excuse us, we've got orders."

Turning his serene countenance toward the still resonating Adams, Teal'c bowed slightly. "I believe O'Neill will be most pleased to hear of your vigilance, Sergeant Adams."

Smiling thinly, Adams holstered his weapon, accepted the compliment with a silent nod and stepped back.

Impressed, Rowdy mutely returned the detection wand to one of the sentries with a flourish. Apparently, every glowing description he'd read about SG-1's pluck and grace under fire was bang on the money. "Colonel Mitchell, Mr. Teal'c, I'm Major Mortensen, allow me to escort you to General O'Neill's office."

Casting Adam's a final look of censure; Mitchell hid a small triumphant smile and fell into step with Mortensen. "Lead on, Major."

Elegantly dismissing the incident, Teal'c trailed after the two younger men, eager to reconnect with his brother-of-the-soul once again.

oo

Replacing the phone's handset, Jack smirked; apparently Teal'c's arrival had made quite a splash. Cocking his head, he listened intently. Hearing the pitter-patter of Rowdy's slightly uneven gait against the outer office tiles, the fine hairs on the back of O'Neill's neck confirmed that Mortensen was not alone – neither Mitchell nor the Jaffa's catlike footfalls were discernable.

Sensing the nanosecond his aide moved to approach his door, O'Neill called softly, "Come."

Throwing the portal open, Mortensen ushered Colonel Mitchell and Teal'c into the general's inner office. "General O'Neill, sir…"

"My guests have arrived." Jack finished for him wryly. "Thank you Major."

The major's lips twitched slightly as he nodded, removed himself from the office and closed the door.

Rubbing his hands together with glee, the indecorous general jumped up from his chair and rushed forward to place a welcoming hand on his friend's shoulder. "Understand you made your usual unassuming entrance Teal'c; guess we miscalculated the amount of gold in that headgear of yours. Maybe it's time we let old Doc Nip-Tuck take a whack at removing it."

Ignoring the reference to plastic surgery, Teal'c returned his brother-of-the-soul's modified embrace. "You are looking well, O'Neill. Daniel Jackson sends his greetings."

Feigning ignorance, Jack raised his brows and inquired lightly, "How's the space monkey doing these days T, he's a rather poor correspondent. I think he holds me a tad responsible for the Daedalus leaving him behind."

"Perhaps." Teal'c responded noncommittally. "Following his tribulations at the hands of the female brigand, Vala, he has recovered his former commitment to the pursuits of Stargate Command and SG-1."

"If I may be so bold, General, I think Dr. Jackson holds me singularly responsible for his current fate." Mitchell interjected gravely.

Shifting his shrewd brown-eyed gaze to Mitchell's earnest blue one, Jack grimaced. "I doubt it, Mitchell."

"Have a seat, gents." Indicating the two chairs in front of his desk, Jack returned to his own. "Teal'c, I suppose you're wondering about our mission."

"Indeed." Teal'c concurred succinctly, arching his left brow.

Placing both elbows on his desk, Jack leaned forward intently. "We'll get to that soon enough. Meantime, Mitchell I've got a favor to ask you."

Noting the gleam in the general's eye, Cameron swallowed silently. The last time O'Neill began a sentence that way he'd found himself the new leader of SG-1, and spent the next few weeks begging its former members to rejoin his team. "What would that be, sir?"

"Relax Cam, this won't hurt ya." Jack understood the hesitation in Mitchell's carefully respectful tone. Lowering his voice, he tossed his silver head toward the closed door. "I want you to ferry Major Mortensen back to the SGC with you aboard the X-303."

Startled, Cameron's forehead resembled a rumpled sheet. "Sir?"

"Got the orders right here." Jack pushed a small pile of papers across the desk to the colonel. "Teal'c and I will be leaving from here and returning in a few days to Stargate Command."

Folding his hands, he continued casually, "And, as a special favor to me, I'd like you to make a singular effort to connect with the major. Ya know one warrior to another type of thing. I suspect the two of you have a good deal in common."

Teal'c smiled sagely. "Has the major recently returned from the battlefield, O'Neill?"

"Not sure what ya mean T." Jack's normally expressive eyes became opaque. "I'd like my aide to get to know my old haunt; it'll give him some firsthand insight into what it is we do, without putting him in direct danger."

"I see." The Jaffa intoned gravely. "Perhaps, Daniel Jackson might be of assistance to Major Mortensen as well."

Jack contemplated that little tidbit for a long minute. "Perhaps. Danny has a way with most people. Besides, he loves playing tour guide."

Cameron's inquisitive gaze swiveled back and forth, scrutinizing the two seasoned men. Something passed silently between the pair; he suspected they often communicated in a like manner, especially in combat. Wisely, he remained silent throughout the exchange.

"It's settled then, you and the major leave this afternoon." Sitting back in his chair, the general's deep-set orbs speared the colonel. "Any questions?"

"I think I get the basic picture, sir." Cameron drawled lazily. "The major and I take a little spin, inspect the big silver ring, make nice and then I turn him over to Dr. Jackson."

"Exactly!" Jack ejaculated proudly, glancing at his watch. "I knew you'd catch on Cam. Now get the hell out a here and fill the major in. Teal'c and I have a ride to catch."

"Yes, sir." Mitchell snapped smartly, rising he opened the door and made to quit the room.

"Oh, and Mitchell?" O'Neill's voice compelled the colonel to turn back.

"Sir?"

Grabbing the overstuffed shopping bag, his duffle and cap, Jack stood beside Teal'c and pressed a small tear shaped crystal device clutched in his left hand. "Ignore the light show…"

As the general and the Jaffa's bodies were engulfed by a radiant white glow, Mitchell backed out the door, shutting it firmly.

Diligently sorting through a stack of papers, Mortensen appeared not to notice the brief flash of intense light seeping under the general's office door.

Releasing an inaudible sigh, Cameron cleared his throat and set the new orders on the desktop in front of the major. "Well Mortensen, how soon can you be packed?"


	2. O'Neill's Unique Solution

20

Warriors, Pink Cakes and 'lil Gray Butts, by Cjay

**O'Neill's Unique Solution - within the Brilliance.**

**_Previously in part one of Warrior, Pink Cakes and Lil' Gray butts; another stirring chapter in the continuing adventures of that delectable hard candy confection, with the soft chewy center, Jack O'Neill: _**

_Endeavoring to settle into his new posting at the Pentagon, Jack finds the major assigned as his assistant annoying in the extreme. Promptly setting out to find the irritating supercilious popinjay a suitable new posting, he proceeds to locate an aide-de-camp whose character reflects principles our ex-special ops operative can respect. Devising a seemingly innocent test, he sends the new man out to collect a list of 'necessities' for an upcoming mission of 'international importance.' Then, learning that his boon companion and bother-of-the-soul, Teal'c is uncharacteristically glum, the sly general schemes to lift the gloomy Jaffa's spirits by summoning him to Washington in the company of Colonel Mitchell, entangling the pair in yet another of his canny schemes … And now, on to Part Two.._.

Rowdy ushered Teal'c and the colonel into General O'Neill's private office and closed the door. Turning, he spotted a vintage green Yo-Yo resting atop a neatly folded scrap of paper, perched conspicuously on the seat of his chair. Bemused, he set the wooden toy aside and unfolded the note beneath. It read:

Teal'c and I will be leaving at light speed.

Ignore the fireworks and take care of Mitchell.

O'Neill.

Tucking the note and the prized Yo-Yo inside his right hip pocket, the major sat down at his desk, absently shuffling papers. Contemplating the new experiences his recent assignment had thus far presented in rapid-fire succession, he ignored the sudden bright flash of light spilling under the general's door.

"Well Mortensen, how soon can you be packed?"

Mitchell's soft drawl pulled Rowdy from his daydream. Blinking, he looked up. "Sir?"

"Apparently General O'Neill's taken a shine to you, Major." Colonel Cameron Mitchell settled a file folder beneath Mortensen's nose. Flipping it open with a flourish, he tapped the orders contained within. "Come sunset, you and I will be soaring with the eagles." Resting one hip on the edge of the desk, he crossed his arms over his chest.

Rowdy carefully scanned the brief paragraphs before him. According to the paperwork, he was to return to Stargate Command, along with Colonel Mitchell by way of the top-secret X-303. Once there, he was to await the general's arrival, sometime within the next week, and familiarize himself with both the facility beneath the mountain and its personnel's unique mission.

Panic's icy hands slid along the scarred flesh of his spine, wrapped her long fingers around his lungs, and squeezed hard. Gritting his teeth stubbornly, he concentrated on breathing slowly, denying terror a foothold.

Mitchell noted the major's unnatural stillness. The mute man's posture gave him pause. He didn't know anything about the general's aide, but he did know military men and he sensed the officer before him was grappling with something bigger than rearranging a schedule. "Any questions, Major?"

O'Neill's new man slid a stealthy hand inside his pocket. Wrapping his long fingers around the well-worn Yo-Yo, he held on tight. Slowly his pounding heart regained its usual steady rhythm. Barely hearing the colonel's query over the residual roaring in his ears, he looked Mitchell in the eye. "When do we leave?"

The colonel's blue-eyed gaze mirrored the major's studied nonchalance. "Well Mortensen, I'm famished. My first priority is a good meal, a shower and a bit of shuteye. So, I guess I'll leave arranging our flight clearance to you."

"Very good, Sir." Rowdy nodded. Using the desk as cover, he wiped his sweaty palms on his trouser legs. "General O'Neill secured temporary quarters for you here in town. Once I've ferried you over, I'll give the airfield a call." Pushing back in his chair, he snapped the folder shut.

"Hold your horses," Mitchell interjected, raising a hand. Mortensen seemed inordinately eager to be rid of him. "I'd prefer to eat first."

Realizing his error, Rowdy colored lightly. "Of course, Colonel, my apologies.

"No problem, I assume you've a few loose ends to tie up around here." Mitchell empathized.

"Thank you, Colonel. Actually, as the general was to be away for a few days, I was planning to tackle the small mountain of paperwork he left behind on his desk." Rowdy admitted conspiratorially. "Do you have a taste for anything in particular?"

Mitchell's eyes lit with undisguised desire. "Well, I don't suppose you know where a man can get a generous portion of Southern-style barbecue?"

Rowdy smiled crookedly. "I assume you'd like a bit of cornbread to go along with said barbecue."

Squinting, Mitchell pursed his lips and cocked his head. "I did say 'Southern-style,' didn't I?"

"That you did, Colonel. And I know just the place." Rising to his feet, Rowdy tucked the folder beneath his left arm. "I confess your choice makes my mouth water with anticipation. Might I join you, Sir?"

Unfolding his lanky frame, Mitchell smiled with genuine pleasure. "Well now, any man who has a hankering for the ambrosia of the South is welcome to share my table anytime, Mortensen."

"Ambrosia of the South," Rowdy repeated appreciatively. "Mind if I borrow that rather poetic turn of phrase, Sir?"

Mitchell's eyes narrowed warily. "Well Mortensen, that all depends…"

"I was planning to use it to finesse us an early lunch." Rowdy's ingenuous expression reinforced his sincerity.

Glancing at his watch, Mitchell noted it was barely 0930. "In that case, feel free to wield my jargon in any way you see fit, Major."

"Thank you, Sir. I'll call the airfield after our mutual need for sustenance has been met." Rowdy opened the office door to allow the senior officer to precede him.

Grabbing his cap from a nearby file cabinet, he set it jauntily on his curly dark head. "Once I lay that 'Ambrosia of the South' line on Miss Jolene I'm confident she'll satisfy our mutual 'hankering.'"

"Major, I like your style." Mitchell's head bobbed lightly as he moved fluidly into the hall. "Yes, sir, I think we're gonna get on just fine."

oo

When Mortensen suggested they forgo transportation and walk the short distance to the restaurant, Mitchell readily agreed. "My legs could use a bit of stretching."

It was a fair day for walking. The morning was bright and cloudless. A cooling light breeze ruffled the few trees scattered alongside the hot sidewalk, adding nature's music to the soft drone of their surroundings. Always observant, Mitchell noted the slight hitch in the taller man's gait, slowed his pace and fell into step beside the younger officer. "So, what do you think of General O'Neill?"

The major hesitated briefly. "I think there is more to the general than meets the eye, Sir." Despite his earnest expression, Mortensen's lips twitched.

Mitchell heard the admiration and respect beneath the carefully chosen words. 'And in spite of the fact that you've only know O'Neill a short time, you'd gladly take a bullet for him.'

Satisfied, he changed the subject. "Guess it's a bit early for lunch. I sure hope this Miss Jolene is feeling accommodating today."

"I'd say we've got more than a fair chance. She seems to have a weak spot for military types." Mortensen confided with a grin.

"Military types in general, Mortensen…" Mitchell drawled mischievously, eyeing the major's spit-and-polished attire. "Or just you?"

The good-natured barb sparked a shift in the major's careful air.

"There is no denying that a few shiny medals and a chest full of colorful ribbons, coupled with one's own unique sense of style, tend to ease the way with most ladies." Rowdy's eyebrows rose impishly. "However, I'm betting your smooth Southern charm will steal Miss Jolene's breath clean away."

Returning Mortensen's smirk with similar panache, Mitchell knew he'd found a kindred soul. "Touché."

oo

Snapping the shower curtain aside, Mitchell wrapped a thick towel around his lean waist. Using a second towel, he rubbed his short sandy hair dry. Padding out of the bath, he striped the damp cloth from his flanks and tossed it aside. Stretching out on the large inviting bed, Cameron tucked a pillow under his head, rubbing his over-stuffed belly with a sigh. Dining at Miss Jolene's sated both his appetite and an ever-lingering need for the soothing ways of the South.

It was apparent from the moment that he and Mortensen entered the lady's small, yet attractive, establishment that they were welcome. Recognizing the major with a smile of delight she'd bustled out from behind the orderly counter to offer her magnolia-kissed cheek for the major's fond peck. And, mere moments after Rowdy laid the 'Ambrosia of the South' line on her; Miss Jolene served up a luncheon fit for the gods. Her succulent cornbread coupled with the gentile woman's sassy repartee eased an unspoken ache in Cameron's soul. It'd been a long time since he'd enjoyed such culinary bliss.

Miss Jolene's attitude regarding Cameron's desperate need for nourishment had been charitable. Although, he suspected she'd been more concerned with stuffing Mortensen, than pleasing his palate. The lady fussed over the likeable young officer like a mother hen over her long lost chick.

Pulling the light coverlet over his naked limbs, Cam punched at his pillow, adjusting his position. His body was more than ready to rest; yet, sleep eluded him. There was something intangible about the major that weighed on his mind. Judging by the slight limp and quickly hidden grimace whenever he rose from a seated position, the major's rangy body was still on the mend from some grievous injury. But, the memory of Mortensen's unnatural stillness as he read the general's order suggested there was something more.

O'Neill's request flittered within the fringes of his consciousness. On the surface it was a simple enough assignment; get to know Mortensen and familiarize him with the basics of Stargate command. Conversely, the unspoken interplay between the general and Teal'c in the office this morning left him feeling mystified. His gut told him there was more depth to this so-called 'favor' than the general's light tone implied - his gut, and a lingering history of succumbing to the seasoned covert operative's machinations.

Cam flipped over and buried his head under the pillow, willing his mind to shutdown. Drifting off, he wondered what the crafty O'Neill was really up to.

OoooOo

Gazing about the cavernous council chamber, Brigadier General Jack O'Neill coolly watched chaos ensue.

Convincing the delegates aboard Commander Thor's flagship to set aside any debate until after they'd sampled the delicacies he'd brought along, proved to be all too easy. Since the Asgard diet consisted of multicolored squares and cubes, the many and sundry items he dumped from his shopping bag seemed both innocent and tempting. Admiring the shiny colors, his long fingered hosts tore through the packets concealing the candies inside. Trusting O'Neill implicitly they summarily popped the small potent doses of refined sugar into their unsuspecting thin-lipped mouths.

As he'd been the first to imbibe, Thor was the first to succumb. Swaying gently from side to side, a small wet pink sphere eased out of his tiny mouth, growing rapidly as he exhaled.

Half a dozen large gleaming black eyes dilated in fascination as the bubble expanded and grew. Until, it suddenly popped, leaving its gooey remains tenaciously spread across his pointy gray chin.

Startled, the council's mesmerized members released a collective gasp.

"Ah, for crying out loud!" Blinking sluggishly, the little alien swiped an unsteady hand at his newly acquired tacky pink beard. "O'Neill this method is flawed!"

"On the contrary, you are not the first to experience a similar outcome. You must employ perseverance." Teal'c advised sagely. "Observe."

Inhaling deeply, the muscular warrior worked his jaw briefly; and then, exhaled slowly, emitting an ever-growing, slightly oblong pink orb. Gauging the expansion carefully, he arched an expressive brow.

Satisfied, he sucked the elastic matter back into his mouth. "Perhaps, you should begin again, Commander Thor."

Jack coughed; using a quick hand to mask his reaction, delight suffocating minuscule embers of regret.

"Way to go, T." Jack crowed, slapping the Jaffa proudly on the back,

"O'Neill…" Thor grumbled forlornly, "I fear that I shall never aspire to either yours or Bazooka Joe's expertise!"

Jack handed Thor another square of chewing gum. "You're doing fine, buddy. All ya need is more material…and a tad more practice." Manipulating the large wad he'd sequestered against his molars, O'Neill extended the tip of his tongue passed rounded lips, exhaling softly. The small planet-like mass he rapidly produced dwarfing that of the erstwhile Jaffa.

Drawing closer to observe the general's technique, High Councilor Astrid swallowed her last bite of licorice, giving up all pretense of boredom. "Most impressive…you display great prowess, human. However, given sufficient time…we are confident Supreme Commander Thor shall surpass your ability."

"No doubt, High Councilor…it's nothing more than a simple matter of repetition." Jack nodded politely and shrugged, sucking the shiny pink mass back into his mouth. "As you are a vastly superior race, such…ah, trivialities are mere child's play…

Scooping a handful of pink cakes from a nearby pedestal, he made short work of their wrappings, extending them with an abbreviated bow. "Perhaps you'd care to try?"

Returning the human's deferential salute, Astrid accepted the implied challenge. "We shall all try this unique custom of yours, O'Neill." Hiccupping loudly, she strove to maintain a dignified stance while greedily stuffing several pieces into her diminutive mouth.

Noting the exchange, the remainder of the delegation abandoned whatever confection they'd been sampling. Moving forward, they haughtily accepted the cubes O'Neill and Teal'c swiftly distributed.

Soon the entire company's bloodstream was polluted. The task of demanding Earth answer for the situation with the Ori forgotten, replaced by an ever escalating infatuation with the art of chewing gum.

Jack sidestepped another intoxicated gray body and drew alongside Teal'c. "Ya know T; I think the whole vastly superior intellect thing is overrated."

"Indeed, O'Neill." The Jaffa's sepulchral tone was laced with thinly disguised amusement. "You've successfully clouded their vision with sheep's hair."

"I'll bet you've been dying to skew that colloquialism for years." Jack tossed back shrewdly. "Got any more colorful phrases you need to get off your chest, T?"

"Such as?" Teal'c queried his thick lips quirking infinitesimally upward.

Jack was thrilled to see a rare spark of childish joy igniting in the all too often somber Jaffa's dark eyes. "Well let's see…oh, ah…here's one…that was like taking candy from a baby..."

"Alas O'Neill, that particular phrase does not apply." Teal'c responded with mock sorrow. "The Asgard are far from children and we gave them the sweets..."

"Jeez, T…are ya trying to rain on my parade?" Jack complained with a sniff. "Or just goad me into spouting another cliché?"

"My apologies, O'Neill." The Jaffa replied cheekily, adding a small deferential bow. "What now?"

"Now, we negotiate." Jack replied dryly.

OOO

After taking a few minutes to scrutinize the stats on the X-303, it took Mortensen less than an hour to log their flight plan, notify an obviously half-asleep Colonel Mitchell of the departure time and make sure the general's affairs were in order. Securing the last file cabinet, he locked the office up tight and headed out to get some air.

At precisely 2100 hours, both he and Mitchell would be strapped inside a small metallic craft and launch perilously into space. It wasn't the flight that disturbed him. It was the confinement. A splinter of panic sketched a frigid path along the vulnerable contours of his aching spine. Suddenly, he was shattered … hemmed in, feeling the chill penetrate helpless limbs … his nostrils clogged with particles of gritty soil … his lifeblood feeding the sandy earth that entombed him.

Fumbling in his pocket, Rowdy's clammy hand located his newest talisman. The worn green wood of O'Neill's parting gift felt familiar and safe, its welcome presence pulling him back from the past. Gulping air, he pried frightened eyelids open, forcing his paralyzed brain to focus on his current surroundings.

Licking the salty sweat from his upper lip, he furtively scanned a few passersby gauging their reaction. Nobody seemed in the least affected. Clearing his parched throat, he planted one shaky foot in front of the other, moving aimlessly along. Once upon a time, fear had been a valued tool, an ally keeping him safe with her whisper of warning. But now, terrifying tendrils of memory refused to depart. Rowdy doubted his mind would ever truly be free again.

Leaving the Pentagon behind, the brooding major paced along the neat streets of Alexandria, hoping the afternoon sun's bright warmth would dispel the insidious shadows lingering in his mind.

OOO

Jerome finished sweeping the last bits of discarded debris into his ancient dustpan and set aside his broom. Mopping his balding head with a large faded handkerchief, he squinted upwards allowing the puffy clouds to mitigate his ire. Litterbugs offended his sensibilities. Clicking his tongue, the confectioner was just about to stoop over and collect his pan when a familiar figure rounded the corner. "Rowdy!"

Startled, the preoccupied major looked up. Catching sight of the round little man, wearing an apron and a smile, he quickly plastered on a polite grin. "How are you today, Sir?"

"Sir?" The wizened fellow echoed disappointedly. "Suddenly I'm a stranger? Yesterday it was Uncle Jerome…"

Coloring, Rowdy stammered. "Forgive me…Uncle Jerome…I was just …"

"Coming to have tea with me!" Jerome interrupted gleefully. Gathering his dustpan and broom, he dumped the pan's contents into a nearby trash receptacle. "And here I thought I'd have to eat my Emma's freshly baked cookies alone." Shaking his head, he bustled back inside his shop.

Rowdy was about to decline, the sizeable brunch Miss Jolene had prepared more than sated his appetite, but something in the older man's tone and carriage echoed an almost forlorn loneliness. Glancing at his watch, he trailed behind. "Cookies?"

"Back here." Pushing past the long curtain hiding the backroom of his establishment, Jerome tucked the cleaning utensils inside a tall cupboard. Maneuvering his squat frame beyond a small pile of boxes, he led Rowdy through a tunnel-like stockroom and into his tidy office. Resting on top of an old-fashioned roll top desk, a state of the art computer sat incongruously beside a lightly steaming brass kettle, perched atop an electric hotplate.

Using his double chin to indicate a pair of old-fashioned chairs in the corner, Jerome motioned for Rowdy to take a seat. "Sit, sit…I'll just wash the dust from my hands and be right with you."

Stepping into an adjacent room, Jerome's voice mingled with the sound of running water. "So what sort of tea do you fancy? Take a gander inside the desk's top right-hand drawer; I've got quite an assortment to choose from."

Rowdy preferred coffee. However, obediently pulling the two chairs next to the desk, he sat down. "I'm not picky." Setting his cap aside, he slid the ornate drawer open revealing at least a dozen oddly shaped tins. Choosing a round container brightly decorated with small birds and blossoms, he set it on the desk's polished surface. "What about you, Uncle Jerome?"

"Oh, I like them all…" Stepping back into the office Jerome eyed Rowdy's choice appreciatively. Selecting two cobalt-blue ceramic mugs from a shelf above the desk, he filled each with steaming water. Fishing several tea bags from within the tin, he then set them to steep. "Nothing refreshes the body in the afternoon like a cup of tea and a homemade treat!"

Stooping over, Jerome pulled the desk's bottom drawer open and withdrew a sealed plastic container from within. Prying the lid off, he offered his guest the first choice. "The oatmeal-raisins are my personal favorite, but you must try them all."

"My momma used to make them with walnuts." Selecting the uppermost cookie, Rowdy obligingly took a large bite. Chewing slowly, he closed his eyes; savoring the sweetness as it tantalized his taste buds. It'd been a longtime since he'd been treated to a little bit of home. Instinctively, his rigid body relaxed.

Pleased by the younger man's response, Jerome eased silently into the opposite chair and blew softly on the surface of his hot tea.

The shop's entry bell tickled distantly, drawing the pair from their companionable reverie.

"Ah, a customer. Have another cookie my boy, I shan't be long." Setting his cup aside, Jerome bustled from the office.

Rowdy washed the cookie's remains down with a sip of hot tea and sat back. Allowing his eyes to roam over the organized little office, he wondered at the absence of anything really personal. The only items on display were those generic to any office. Given Jerome's seemingly open demeanor, the curious officer found that intriguing. In fact, given the clutter of the storeroom, the room's immaculate condition was downright peculiar. 'Get a grip Mortensen; you're letting your dark frame of mind eclipse Jerome's hospitality.'

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his Yo-Yo. Slipping the string's loop over his right middle finger, he flicked his wrist, watching the painted double disk descend and then, pop back up - tethered by its string.

Following a rather lengthy sale, Jerome returned to the office. As he moved through his cluttered storeroom, he caught sight of the major pensively toying with an all too familiar green wooden toy. Rowdy's possession of that particular Yo-Yo, a model not produced in some forty years, confirmed something he'd guessed after yesterday's shopping expedition, and a certain general's visit. The master of covert intrigue was at it again.

Reclaiming his chair, Jerome pried open the door to one of the roll top desk's many cubbyholes, removed a faded cigar box and laid it almost reverently across one knee. Dragging the large yellow rubber band encompassing the worn box off to one side, he opened the top. Inside a glossy red Yo-Yo and a multicolored wooden top lay majestically on a bed of assorted old-fashioned marbles. Selecting the Yo-Yo, he shut the carton once more, reseated the rubber band and set the box aside.

Making a great show of rolling up his shirtsleeves, the elderly rascal pulled the toy's looped string over one gnarled finger and proceeded to perform several intricate tricks without uttering a word.

OOO

Cameron's questing tongue traced a seductive path along the plump contours of the smoky brunette's lower lip. His calloused hands were just about to venture further along the vixen's tempting curves when her soft moans altered into the distinctive melodic notes of his personal cell phone. While his cloudy mind strove to hang onto the voluptuous woman, his disciplined hands groped the bedside table, looking for the phone. Sadly, as soon as he located the offensive source of intrusion, the tantalizing brunette disappeared. "Damnation! This had better be good."

Blinking rapidly, Daniel withdrew the small cell phone from his sensitive ear. "Sorry, Mitchell…is this a bad time?"

"What?" Recognizing Jackson's voice, Cameron sat upright in bed, rubbing the remnant of slumber from his eyes. Glancing at the nearby clock he noted it was only just 1500. "Gee no, Daniel three hours of sleep after pulling an all-nighter should be enough for anyone."

Reseating the phone, Daniel chose to ignore the snarl in Cameron's voice. "Glad to hear it. Your call earlier got me to thinking…"

"How shocking." Cameron responded sarcastically.

"Ya know Mitchell; until I met you I used to think Jack O'Neill had cornered the market on sarcasm." Daniel volleyed in kind. "Was it a blonde or a redhead?" He added knowingly.

"Point taken." Cameron swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched. "So what's up?"

"As I said, this 'assignment' Jack gave you doesn't track...I mean, why send his aide here? So, I decided to put my rather lofty security clearance to good use." Using his free hand, Daniel tapped his laptop. "I've spent the last hour or so pouring over Major Ronan Mortensen's dossier."

Mitchell grabbed his boxer's and staggered groggily into the bathroom. "And?"

"Cam, maybe you should rethink your departure time…" Jackson's tone chased the last fragments of sleep from Mitchell's brain. "I don't think it's a good idea for the major to be traveling inside a small metal ship in the dark."

ooo

'Blast!' Rowdy's attempt to mimic Uncle Jerome's Yo-Yo proficiency fell short. Winding the string yet again, he gave it another try.

"You'll get the hang of it; after all…I've been at it a tad longer than you." Jerome's rather smug little grin belied his modest words. "I knew a young man once who displayed a similar form of tenacity. Mind you, he lacked patience, but then again, this fellow hated to lose."

"I wasn't aware this was a competition." Rowdy responded distractedly attempting to 'walk the dog.'

"Competition is overrated. Keep the string taunt, like so." Slowly repeating the stunt's steps, Jerome hid a smile. "Once you've mastered the basics, you will find that working with your Yo-Yo can be remarkably therapeutic."

"Do tell?" Rowdy inquired skeptically. "And here I thought it was just a game."

"Unfortunately, too much of life is just a game." Jerome muttered, flipping the wooden disk into the air. The toy made its return voyage along its string slapping lightly into the old man's palm; his grave expression caught his visitor's attention.

Snagging the green Yo-Yo, Rowdy pocketed it and shifted uneasily. "That was rather flippant of me, Uncle Jerome. I apologize."

"What? Oh, no need for that…I was thinking…you remind me of him." Jerome's rheumy eyes focused on the major's earnest unlined face.

Rowdy swallowed another sip of tea. "Him, who?"

"The fellow I mentioned before, my previous Yo-Yo protégé." The little shopkeeper's reflected thoughtfully. "He was hiding too."

"How's that?" Rowdy coughed sharply.

"Oh, he wasn't as friendly as you my boy. At least, not at first." Jerome rose quickly to thump the young man's back. "No, he was so guarded that for him sarcasm became second nature, an effective sort of mask used to keep him safe."

"That first day, when he strolled into my shop, his voice was cold, devoid of any emotion. There was no light in his obsidian eyes…only an impenetrable darkness, the kind that can destroy one's soul." Leaning in conspiratorially, the little man enunciated each word carefully. "He was skittering on the remnants of sanity."

Feeling a bit like a bug under a microscope, the major's fingers clutched his tea mug with involuntary alarm. He couldn't help wondering if the perceptive candy peddler had noted his similar affliction.

"Oh, he hid it well; perhaps too well…" Jerome continued fondly, regaining his seat. "Turns out, he's a rather exceptional actor. I knew right then and there that he needed my help."

Rowdy was hopelessly captivated. "What sort of help?"

Jerome's faded eyebrows arched upwards. "Somehow, I just had to make him smile."

"You had to make him smile?" Rowdy echoed confused. "Why?"

"Think about it, a real smile comes from here…" Jerome laid one chubby finger against Rowdy's heart. "Not here." He added, plunking the young major lightly on the temple.

Squinting, Rowdy nodded and bit his lip.

Jerome refilled his teacup and took a long draught of the invigorating fluid. "Ya know, it took me a few tries, but he finally deigned to offer me a sorry version of a smile…well it was more of an ironic smirk really…" Plucking a cookie from the container, he took a large bite, settled back in his chair and sighed. "Sadly, it never quite reached those expressive eyes of his."

"Somehow I don't believe that's the end of it." Rowdy advised doubtfully.

"No?" Pausing dramatically, Jerome flicked a few wayward crumbs from his portly belly.

"No." The major repeated confidently.

"You're right." Jerome allowed chewing enthusiastically. "He came around again and again, allegedly searching for something elusive to satisfy his self-proclaimed sweet tooth. I think it became a sort of quest for him. Oh yes indeed, over the months he tried every bonbon and sweet-treat known to man, and occasionally he did smirk…but, I can't say he ever really smiled."

Noting Rowdy's somewhat disillusioned expression, the little man's eyes danced with merriment. "Until, that is, I made him a gift of a Yo-Yo. You know to this day I can still see that first genuine smile, it lit him up like a glorious sunrise after a stormy night."

"I suspect it was more your persistent friendship than a simple toy that did that, Jerome." The major speculated wisely.

"Perhaps." Jerome accepted, cocking his head. "Have you ever stopped to consider just how a Yo-Yo works?"

Assuming it was a rhetorical question, Rowdy waited quietly. When nothing further was said, he ventured, "Okay, I'm not that poetic; care to fill me in?"

"No matter where you throw it, how many twists and turns it takes, even when it becomes tangled in itself, a Yo-Yo never really loses its way." Jerome informed him, rubbing the round disk affectionately. "Despite a few deviations and even a few tenacious knots, it remains secured by its string, true to its center, its heart if you will..."

"That's what made him smile." Jerome's steely azure orbs peered intently into Rowdy's hazel eyes. "That's what he clung to; it's what kept him sane."

Rowdy's mouth went dry. Was it really all that simple? Reaching into his pocket, he wrapped a fist around the solid wood of the Yo-Yo.

"Yes, believe me it is. No matter what the obstacle, no matter how monumental or terrible the task, if you stay true to who you are, you'll overcome any and all obstacles." Jerome answered the unspoken question emphatically. "Oh, it won't be easy and most likely it'll take a good deal of time, but once you get the knots out…"

"You really believe that?" Rowdy interrupted hoarsely, licking his dry lips.

"I do. But more importantly, he did." Jerome confirmed quietly. "I saw him again yesterday for the first time in many years. And, you know what? His eyes were smiling."

oooo

Grinning, Jack dodged another drunken little alien, boldly navigating yet another corridor of Thor's ship, heading for the control room. "Ya know T'man…I think we've been going about this whole diplomacy thing the wrong way. Maybe I should order each team to pack some of those magnificent little pink cakes along with the C-4 and extra ammo."

"Perhaps, O'Neill. However, I believe the Asgard response to sweets is unique." Teal'c supplied, following protectively in his wake.

"Hey, everyone has their weakness." Pulling a thick packet from the inner breast pocket of his dress blues, O'Neill tossed it over his right shoulder, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Even an invulnerable Jaffa."

Without missing a step, Teal'c deftly caught the parcel. Noting its contents, his grave expression lightened. "My thanks."

"You're welcome big guy." Taking a final turn in the long hallway, the pair moved unchallenged through an open portal. And drew up short.

"I believe your presence is no longer required, O'Neill." High Councilor Astrid swayed unsteadily, her pint-sized androgynous form stood atop the raised dais that housed the ship's control panel. Highlighted by the transparent bulkhead directly behind her, she giggled drunkenly, sliding a smooth black tear-shaped crystal over the panel's symbol covered surface. "I bid you adieu and safe journey."

As his body was engulfed by the glowing light of the Asgard transportation field, Jack took a quick inventory of the stars visible just beyond the drunken councilor's gray-skinned head. "Crap!"

Somewhere within the brilliance Teal'c's deep baritone rumbled. "Indeed."

OOO

Tucking a last minute purchase into his back pocket, Rowdy bid the kindly merchant a good day. Stepping out onto the walkway, he was busy wrestling a sudden gust of wind for his hat when his cell phone rang. Fishing it from his pocket, he snapped it open, adjusting his cap. "Mortensen."

"Major? Mitchell here, where are you?" The colonel's tone was all business. "Our departure time has been moved up to 1700 hours."

"Not far, Colonel." Rowdy responded crisply. A nearby bank's digital clock glowed 3:45pm. "Shall I..."

Anticipating his next words, the colonel cut him off. "Negative, I've already secured transportation. Give me your position; I'll pick you up along the way."

"I'm approaching the intersection of Arlington and Peachtree." Rowdy relayed promptly.

"Well stay put." Mitchell instructed curtly. "We're only about two clicks from there."

"Understood, Colonel." Reaching the intersection, Rowdy stopped short. "I'm afraid I don't have my gear with me…"

"Not a problem, Major. I've already notified the airfield of your approximate dimensions, they've got a flight suit that should fit that towering frame of yours..." Mitchell replied in a wry tone. "And, where we're headed your regulation blues won't be of much use. Don't worry; I'm sure we can accommodate ya just fine."

"I'll await you on the northeast corner." Rowdy responded deliberately. Returning the cell to his pocket his apprehensive fingers encountered the smooth wood of O'Neill's talisman. It was time to see if he too, despite a good many tangles and knots, still remained true to center.

OOO

_TBC… in Part Three…_ **True to Center**.

2006


	3. True to Center

15

Warriors, Pink Cakes and 'lil Gray Butts, by Cjay

**True to Center.**

**_Previously in part two of Warriors, Pink Cakes and Lil' Gray butts; another stirring chapter in the continuing adventures of that delectable hard candy confection, with the soft chewy center, Jack O'Neill: _**

Grinning, Jack dodged another drunken little alien, boldly navigating yet another corridor of Thor's ship, heading for the control room. "Ya know T'man…I think we've been going about this whole diplomacy thing the wrong way. Maybe I should order each team to pack some of those magnificent little pink cakes along with the C-4 and extra ammo."

"Perhaps, O'Neill. However, I believe the Asgard response to sweets is unique." Teal'c supplied, following protectively in his wake.

"Hey, everyone has their weakness." Pulling a thick packet from the inner breast pocket of his dress blues, O'Neill tossed it over his right shoulder, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Even an invulnerable Jaffa."

Without missing a step, Teal'c deftly caught the parcel. Noting its contents, his grave expression lightened. "My thanks."

"You're welcome big guy." Taking a final turn in the long hallway, the pair moved unchallenged through an open portal. And drew up short.

"I believe your presence is no longer required, O'Neill." High Councilor Astrid swayed unsteadily, her pint-sized androgynous form stood atop the raised dais that housed the ship's control panel. Highlighted by the transparent bulkhead directly behind her, she giggled drunkenly, sliding a smooth black tear-shaped crystal over the panel's symbol covered surface. "I bid you adieu and safe journey."

As his body was engulfed by the glowing light of the Asgard transportation field, Jack took a quick inventory of the stars visible just beyond the drunken councilor's gray-skinned head. "Crap!"

Somewhere within the brilliance Teal'c's deep baritone rumbled. "Indeed."

_OOO_

The radiance of the Asgard transport beam faded, replaced by a scintillating emerald green glow. Blinking rapidly, General Jack O'Neill released the breath he'd been holding. Assuming a deceptively relaxed air, he pivoted slowly, allowing all of his senses to take in the new situation.

Bemoaning his lack of a weapon or protective eyewear, O'Neill willed the black dots from his spotty vision. Flanked by tropical jungle, he stood waist deep in vegetation that smelled like geraniums, and whose fronds inexplicably seemed to move aside when his questing fingers reached out to sample their texture.

His sharp eyes were unable to discern any form of skyline, only a presumably endless expanse of softly illuminated and oddly reflective crystalline rock. Despite the absence of a sun the air around him was still and muggy. Off in the distance he could hear the muted, but distinct sound of fast moving water. Judging by the echoing property of that sound, the florescent quality of the light, and the loamy smells assailing his nostrils, he was in some form of vast vegetation filled cavern.

Apparently the intoxicated Asgard high councilor hadn't deposited him in the frigid airless vacuum of space. So, just where had the pint-sized tyrant banished him? And where was Teal'c?

Suddenly, a childlike silhouette haloed by the weird lighting and clad in varying shades of a tropical rain forest, stood almost directly before him. Intrigued, Jack took a tentative step forward.

"O'Neill…" Teal'c's voice began on his right.

Startled, the cherub's Cupid's-bow mouth rounded in alarm, his button bright eyes registered abject terror. The tiny fellow stumbled backward, desperate to distance himself from the towering Jaffa. Unfortunately, his progress took him to the very edge of a craggy outcropping, where, arms flailing, he stopped short as he fought to keep his balance.

Reacting instinctively, O'Neill rushed forward and made a grab for the child's closefitting multihued jacket. But, just as his sturdy fingers entwined themselves in the soft material, the little creature lost his battle with gravity.

Refusing to capitulate, Jack pulled the small body closer. Soft ringlets of golden hair tickled his chin reminding him of another long-lost curly-headed lad. For perhaps a millisecond, the twosome hung suspended precariously on the brink. And then, unsettled by the child's surprisingly solid mass, coupled with Jack's momentum, the pair plummeted helplessly over the lip of the rocky expanse toward the yawning fissure below.

_OooO_

Mortensen adjusted the last of the fastenings on his borrowed silver zero gravity suit, slipped O'Neill's talisman into the left sleeve for safety and pulled on his gloves. The flight suit fit like a second skin and left nothing to the imagination. Grabbing his borrowed helmet, Rowdy strode resolutely toward the hanger where Colonel Mitchell was busy supervising the X-303's preflight prep.

"Ain't she a beauty, Major?" Colonel Cameron Mitchell inquired smugly.

"Yes, Sir. She sure is." Rowdy concurred politely.

"It's a damned good thing General O'Neill is just about your height. Otherwise I doubt they've been able to find a suit to fit you." Mitchell informed him wryly, looking him over with a squint. "You'll do. Hop on into the rear, Major."

Nodding silently, Rowdy climbed aboard the X-303 and slid gingerly into the second seat. Whilst learning that he was wearing O'Neill's suit bolstered his confidence, the cockpit's tight confines caused him to break out in a cold sweat.

Running a possessive hand over the bird's glossy metal belly, Mitchell pretended not to notice the major's thinly disguised distress. "Ready to rock-and-roll, Mortensen?"

Swallowing hard, Rowdy offered what he hoped was a jaunty smile. "Well sir, I was hoping for a smooth as silk kind of flight..."

"Well then, I'm your huckleberry." Climbing into the first seat, Cam adjusted his flight-helmet.

As the engine roared to life, Rowdy licked a few errant beads of sweat from his upper lip and braced his sensitive vertebrae for takeoff.

Giving the ground crew a thumbs-up, Mitchell closed the canopy and taxied out onto the runway.

Rising rapidly, the sleek craft created an almost perpendicular arch, breaking through the clouds and heading out towards Earth's stratosphere. Running a critical eye over the control panel's many gauges; Cam began a soft litany of the craft's exceptional dynamics.

Impressed, Rowdy forgot his discomfort. Soaking the knowledge up like a sponge, he asked question after question, steadily increasing his appreciation of the machine's distinctive properties.

Cameron found the major's interest both reassuring and oddly entertaining. Sharing his love of flight with another enthusiast always gave him a bit of a high. "Judging by your astute questioning, Major you're no stranger to piloting an aircraft."

"Well, it's been a while." Rowdy admitted quietly. When it came to aerodynamics, he'd always been a quick study. But, he hadn't flown an aircraft since he'd been injured.

"Hell, Mortensen just because you're a shade rusty that don't mean you've had your wings clipped." Mitchell informed him sagely. "You just need to get back in the game that's all."

"If you say so, Colonel..." Rowdy began skeptically.

"I…do." Mitchell informed him between yawns. "What's say you take over while I grab some shut-eye?" Confident O'Neill would approve of his tactics; Cam brusquely relinquished the controls, shrewdly circumventing the major's reply.

Feeling the craft wobble loosely, Rowdy hastily grasped the flight-stick with his left hand. 'Holy shit!' Ignoring the sweat trickling down his temples, he checked the gyrocompass and leveled her out. Then, patting the Yo-Yo secreted in his left sleeve, he released the breath he'd been holding, allowing the bliss of flight to banish any lingering trepidation.

As the bird's flight steadied, Cam sighed softly and closed his eyes, gradually drifting into slumber.

_OOOO_

Still clutching the child's body to his chest, Jack felt a viselike grip grasp both his ankles halting his headlong freefall into the gaping chasm below. Unfortunately, the force of two entwined bodies' downward progress drove his unprotected face and vulnerable knees into the solid wall of the cliff face with a loud crack.

"O'Neill!" Teal'c's concern laced voice beckoned, "Are you with me?" Pulling his knees beneath him the mighty Jaffa strained every fiber of muscle in his massive frame, slowly dragging the double burden skyward.

Tasting the metallic tang of blood, O'Neill ignored the skyrockets exploding in his brain and locked his elbows, striving to retain consciousness. A whimper, followed by small hands wrapping themselves around his neck, helped him focus – he had to save the kid. "Uh huh…not sure for how long though…" His voice sounded drunk even to him. "Can you haul us up, T?"

"Indeed, I am endeavoring to do so." Teal'c's voice echoed distantly.

Each jarring movement upwards increased O'Neill's discomfort. Taking another deep steadying breath, Jack swallowed the bile rising in his throat. Helpless to cushion his unprotected face, he silently endured additional snags and scraps against the uneven surface of the rough wall. 'Crap! Shaving was gonna be hell in the morning!'

As blackness threatened to descend, he felt Teal'c's meaty fist release one of his ankles and wrap around his belt, finally dragging him over the lip of the crag.

Gulping air, Teal'c cradled his battered warrior-brother against his chest.

"S' kid okay?" Jack mumbled clinging to consciousness.

Gently disentangling O'Neill's strong arms from the whimpering child, Teal'c ran a quick hand over the small body. "The young one appears to be uninjured."

"Sweet…" Jack acknowledged gratefully with a woozy wave of his hand.

Dismissing the youngster, Teal'c turned his attention to the battered man beside him. Partially obscured by a steady trickle of dark blood, O'Neill's habitual steady gaze appeared unfocused. "I fear you have not been as fortunate, my brother."

"No worries…just a little pooped…nothing a bit of a rest won't cure…he's just a frightened kid… needs looking after… try not to look so scary and don't forget to smile… wake me in ten okay, T-man?" Trusting in the prudent Jaffa, Jack gave in, allowing darkness her cloying embrace.

_OOOO_

Had he heard correctly, or had terror addle his wits? The silver one's genuine concern and selfless interference bolstered Hubbard's lagging courage. Unfurling his small body, he cautiously opened his eyes.

Tipping his substantial head in a brief bow, the fearsome dark warrior, who'd risen so suddenly from the forest, offered a brief grimace - or was it a smile?

"Do not fear." It said. Ripping a scrap of dark cloth from its oddly fitting tunic, the black giant pressed it firmly against the bloody temple of Hubbard's motionless pale-skinned rescuer.

Puzzled, Hubbard took the massive beings' measure. If the altruistic silver giant was the legendary Onall, perhaps the ebony colossus was the mythical Tymon? If so, then it was his people's sacred duty to offer both fealty and aid. Jumping up, the diminutive cherub hastened into the dense foliage.

_OOOO_

Teal'c did not attempt to impede the small one's departure; it would seem his smile of assurance had been lacking. O'Neill would not be pleased. Pressing the cloth more firmly against his brother-of-the-soul's head, the venerable veteran acknowledged a moment of disquiet.

Remembering the many lessons he'd gleaned from observing the late healer, Janet Fraiser, Teal'c focused on examining his warrior-brother's injuries looking for any underlying structural damage. Despite the rather alarming amount of bloody drainage, O'Neill's self-professed 'thick skull' seemed to be intact. However, judging by the odd angle at which it lay, his long-limbed friend's vulnerable right knee had taken the brunt of his fall. Once he regained consciousness, O'Neill would be in considerable pain. Muttering a string of colorful Tau'ri expletives, Teal'c set about carefully coaxing the dislocated right knee back into its proper alignment.

Ooo

As Hubbard suspected the flora he sought was nearby. Reaching into his tunic he retrieved his dagger. Quickly prying several of the thick plants from the earth, he rushed to a nearby stream and plunged his find beneath the surface. Scooping a generous handful of the streambed's sandy bottom into his hand, he used it to scrub the protective first layer from each plant's bulbous base. Leaving the denuded roots to soak in the shallows, he filled his drinking flask with crystalline water. Then clutching the dripping greenery to his chest, he scurried back to the pair of giants.

The black behemoth did not hinder him as he knelt alongside the still form of his rescuer. Taking a generous bite of plant root, Hubbard chewed enthusiastically. Summoning his courage, he dared to peep tentatively upward, seeking the dark one's permission.

Arching one thick brow, the massive one's head dipped briefly signifying acceptance. Fascination overcame Hubbard's anxiety as the golden disk imbedded in the creature's ebony forehead shimmered and winked in the green glow.

A soft moan dispelled his trance. Gently moving the dark one's hands aside, Hubbard removed the scrap of bloody linen covering much of the silver one's face.

Tearing a fresh strip from his tunic, Hubbard doused it with fluid from his flask and began the task of cleaning the more grievous of the facial wounds. Most of the injuries would benefit from a simple cleansing with the healing waters. However, a long uneven laceration running along the silver one's left temple would require more.

Spitting a good portion of the wad he'd been masticating onto his palms, Hubbard added more water. Kneading the mass, he flattened it between his chubby hands; and then, packed the long rent with the pulpy material, covering the gelatinous mass with one of the plant's moist leaves.

Next, he attended a deep gash beneath the right knee of the creature he assumed was Onall. Resting his sensitive fingers over the boney joint, he paused. There was much damaged here. Cocking his golden head thoughtfully, he ran slow hands over Onall's lengthy frame. Compassion filled him as he sensed older more abiding injuries; injuries that echoed great torment barely healed.

Rinsing his mouth, he addressed the towering dark giant. "I have done all I can. I fear I am as yet too young," he added with a whisper. The fine ringlets covering his childish pate trembled as he shook it. Wiping his hands against his trouser legs, Hubbard rose to his full height of three feet and bowed reverently. "If you would permit me, Tymon, I shall summon one whose healing ability far surpasses that of my own."

"Tymon?" The dark one echoed quietly, arching a majestic brow. "Young one, it is not my custom to accept aid from those whose names are unknown to me."

Flushing, Hubbard realized he'd been rude. "Forgive me for addressing you so, my lord. I heard your warrior-brother, the Onall… he spoke your name…I meant no offense." Touching his forelock in salute, he continued, "I am Hubbard of the Ynis Prydain."

"You've treated my brother most gently, and I am grateful." The dark one replied regally, inclining his stately head. "Tell me Hubbard, will your elders not be cross with you for consorting with unknown warriors?"

"Nay, my Lord Tymon. Once they learn who you are, they will herald me as a hero!" Biting his lip, Hubbard averted his eyes shamefully. "That is until they learn that it was my cowardice that led to the Onall's grave condition."

"I see." Tymon nodded thoughtfully, his slightly slanted eyes blinked lazily. "However, I do not believe my brother 'Onall' will hold you responsible."

Hubbard looked up eagerly. "Truly?"

"Indeed." Lord Tymon confirmed. "How far distant is this healer?"

"Perhaps a league, no more…" Hubbard shoved the flask into the giant's hand. "You must keep the leaves of the Albion root moist…Have no fear, my lord... I am the swiftest runner in the village!" With that he broke into a run, rapidly heading southward.

Ooo

Setting the ancient text he'd been studying aside, Dr. Daniel Jackson grabbed his empty coffee cup and headed toward the mess hall. He'd forgotten his watch again and the artificial light here deep within the bowels of the mountain made it difficult to distinguish day from night. That, coupled with the fact that the hallways seemed virtually deserted, alerted the clever scholar to the fact that it must be very late; and made his need for caffeine all the more urgent.

After Janet's death, Jack O'Neill, always a bit of a mother hen when it came to his team, often barged into his lab at any given hour and demanded he get some 'shut eye'. However, now that Jack was at the Pentagon and the Ori situation had become a priority, Daniel habitually went several days with only an hour or two of true rest. Oh, occasionally Sam Carter would notice the dark circles under his eyes and shoot him a look. But, her sleeping habits were as dismal as his. And, as for Teal'c, of late the big man had been much too preoccupied to notice.

Daniel's weary footsteps echoed softly within the empty corridor increasing his lassitude. Sighing heavily, he pushed the door to the mess open. Shuffling toward the ever-brewing coffee urn, he spotted the lone figure of Sergeant Siler sitting at one of the tables wolfishly devouring a donut. "Jelly or cream filled?"

Licking remnants of confectionary powder from his lips, Siler grinned, returning Jackson's nod. "One of each, Sir."

Blinding white light encompassed Daniel's body suffocating his response. Within seconds the radiance faded, leaving him dazzled and alone standing on the gleaming black deck of an Asgard spaceship, with his empty coffee cup dangling from his fingers.

"Greeting, Dr. Jackson. I am Jorgen." A disembodied voice began with the signature lack of inflection typical of the Asgard. "Please accept our profound apologies for not greeting you in person, we are…ah, somewhat indisposed. However, if you would be good enough to follow the ship's directions, you will find us."

As promised, the lights in the room where Daniel stood winked out. Seconds later the corridor beyond lit up brightly.

Well, Daniel contemplated dryly following the path of light, it wasn't their traditional method of greeting, but then nothing about the Asgard could ever be categorized as customary. "Think nothing of it Jorgen; I've become accustomed to being plucked without notice from my planet like a sack of potatoes."

"Apparently O'Neill is not the only cynic among this race." Another disembodied voice intoned petulantly.

"Silence, Astrid." A collective longsuffering sigh crackled above Jackson's head. "As I said, we do apologize."

"Accepted." Daniel responded affably, stifling a yawn. "Sorry, I haven't had my coffee yet." Now that the adrenaline rush of transport was fading, he desperately needed a jolt of caffeine.

"Are we keeping you awake Doctor?" The petulant voice demanded with a rude snort.

"Contain yourself Astrid!" Jorgen's voice thundered. "We now understand the restorative properties of the nectar your people create from the crushed remains of the coffee bean. I believe you will find the brew waiting at the end of your short journey most agreeable, Dr. Jackson."

Daniel's eyebrows connected with his unkempt hairline. "Really?" Rounding a quick turn, he almost tripped with pleasure. The unmistakable aroma of freshly brewed coffee seemed to flood the corridor, bathing him in its richness. Following his nose, he moved rapidly along, the lights becoming a secondary source of guidance as he sought nirvana.

Within minutes, he entered a large dimly lit room. It was filled with a good number of Asgard each sitting or lying on bench-like platforms in varying poses of distress. Even more surprising than their obvious state of misery, they were each sipping deep brown liquid from tall, slender transparent cylinders.

Catching sight of him, Thor's familiar form rose unsteadily from a small group seated nearby. "Ah, Dr. Jackson, you'll find a cauldron behind that panel to your right. Please, help yourself."

Somewhat mystified, Daniel waved a hand over the panel the little Asgard indicated and filled his cup from the container inside. Taking a quick sip of rich black coffee, he swirled it in his mouth for a moment savoring its bitterness.

Turning abruptly, he bumped into Thor, sloshing a portion of the brew on his jacket.

Something was definitely wrong here.

"What's going on, Thor?" Pulling the wet fabric from his body before it could soak the tee shirt beneath, Daniel lowered his voice. "I thought Jack and Teal'c were supposed to be aboard negotiating with the high council?"

"Indeed, up until mere hours ago they were. Unfortunately, I fear O'Neill's 'unique' method of persuasion led to an unforeseen consequence…" Thor's large almond-shaped eyes glistened with moisture. "Regrettably; both he and Teal'c have been…temporarily...misplaced."

"Misplaced," Daniel echoed, trying to contain his consternation. "Exactly what do you mean?"

"Misplaced, mislaid, omitted, gone astray," Thor replied mimicking Jack O'Neill's flippant style. "…In short, we've lost them."

ooo

Jack's essence drifted in a tranquil ebony expanse of nothingness. Gradually, distant sounds of moaning penetrated the silence. Someone was in trouble, their palpable suffering beckoned to his soul. Letting go of the emptiness, he pushed his way up, slowly penetrating the darkness, embracing an ever expanding twilight. Awareness hit him like a freight train. Searing torment chased away any last remnants of peace. Inhaling sharply, he deduced the source of the moaning. 'Crap! It hurt to move!'

"You must lay still, O'Neill."

Teal'c's sonorous voice grated, intensifying the pounding behind Jack's temples. "Jeez, T," he whispered tightly, squeezing his eyelids shut. "Tone it down will ya?"

Long years of practice had taught him to concentrate on taking slow steadying breaths. Finding control, Jack took inventory. Something wet and mushy was covering his left eye, some kinda Jaffa dressing he supposed. Besides a headache from hell, his right knee pulsed with agonizing regularity and the knuckles of his left hand were on fire. Flexing his arms, he winced. Okay, his left wrist hurt like the dickens too. Other than his head, hands, face, wrist and the age-old trauma of his right knee, he seemed to be in relatively good condition.

Cracking his right eyelid carefully, Jack gazed fuzzily at the green-tinged vault of sparkling crystal above. He was lying in tall grass, the smell of geraniums was overpowering. Fractured events fell into place. He remembered.

Gingerly rotating his head to the left, Jack centered on Teal'c's stoic features. "How bad?"

"Unknown." Teal'c responded concisely, falling easily into their familiar form of shorthand.

Closing his good eye, Jack snorted. "And?"

Shifting, Teal'c gently pressed the flask Hubbard had left behind against O'Neill's lips. "You've been unconscious for more than an hour."

Jack let the cool water slide soothingly against the back of his parched throat. Pushing the flask away, he lay back, fingering the soggy dressing covering the left side of his face. "Jaffa medicine?"

"The small one applied some form of herbal poultice. He seemed most concerned." Removing the topmost leaf, Teal'c once again drenched it with fluid. Then, reseated it over the glistening mass of pulp covering O'Neill's left forehead and temple. "He has gone to his village to seek additional aid."

"Okay, I'll take that as a positive." Jack responded with his usual optimistic panache. "Any idea just where it is that little gray-skinned termagant zapped us?"

"None." Teal'c's lips compressed with distaste. "It would appear our situation is problematic at present."

"Ya think?" Jack muttered, quietly. "Well then, let's review: we're inside some sort of massive cave - slash structure, on an unknown planet - slash moon. I'm in no shape to reconnoiter. And, here's the cherry on the top, for the moment at least we've got no weapons or supplies."

"I am not concerned." Teal'c replied, employing his own brand of drollery. Wetting several more Albion root fronds, he replaced the drying mass covering O'Neill's battered knee.

"Nor am I." Jack concurred, amazed at the superfine comfort a mass of soggy wet leaves seemed to instill in his abused flesh. "But, just in case, suppose you take a look around."

"I am loath to leave you in your present condition." Setting the flask aside, Teal'c adjusted the balled up material beneath O'Neill's head.

"No offense T, but you're the most unattractive nurse I've ever had." Nestling his head deeper into the rather bulky material of his dress blue jacket, Jack waved him off. "Ya know I'm a big boy now. And, while I appreciate your concern…I can take care of myself."

"Of that I have no doubt, O'Neill." Teal'c responded archly.

"Peachy…So, feel free to run along and explore…secure the perimeter...see if ya can figure out where the heck we are. I promise I'll just lie around, and enjoy the oh so unbelievably divine sensations that being encased in cold gooey vegetation can bring."

oooo

"Major Freund, have Colonel Carter report to my office proto!" General Landry huffed. Replacing the phone's receiver, his watery blue eyes speared Siler. "Now then, Sergeant you're sure it was Asgard technology?"

"As sure as I can be, General." Siler nodded grimly, wishing for the umpteenth time General O'Neill was still the base commander. It wasn't that Landry was such a bad sort, even if he did seem to relish barking orders, it was just…well, nothing ever seemed to really surprise O'Neill. And, given the current situation, Siler would've preferred O'Neill's unabashed laidback style.

"I was under the impression that Jack O'Neill was the Asgards' usual target." Landry continued irritably. "Or are they in the habit of snatching just anyone?"

"No, Sir." Sam Carter answered, moving briskly through the open office door. "Transporting personnel without prior notice is uncharacteristic of the Asgard."

"I take it Freund briefed you on the situation." Landry responded dryly. "What's your estimation of this 'atypical' behavior then, Carter? Is Dr. Jackson in any danger?"

"I doubt it, Sir." Sam bit her lip. "The last time General O'Neill was unexpectedly taken Thor needed his help…something must be terribly wrong for them to…"

Colonel Carter's next words were lost in a sudden intense flash of light that engulfed her slender frame. Shielding his eyes, Landry uttered an indecorous string of cusswords. Reacting instinctively, he reached over the desk, making a grab for the fading colonel.

Once the flash dissipated, his blurry eyes focused on Siler's troubled frown. Harrumphing, he released the sergeant's uniform, with a self-depreciating smirk. "I assume the good doctor's exit was similar?"

Noting Siler's mute nod of ascent, he waved an impatient hand. "Never mind, let's you and I get our butts down to the control room and see about establishing communications with our little gray allies."

OOOO

Ignoring Colonel Mitchell's light snore, Rowdy piloted the X-303 beyond dusk into the opulence of night. Cruising at this altitude, the stars seemed closer and the universe formidable. He had to admit it; despite his dislike of the close confines, flying this craft was a thrill.

Suddenly, the darkness was replaced by the opaque intensity of white light. Blinded, he groped for the autopilot and flipped the switch. "Mitchell!"

oo

TBC 

2006


	4. Every Paradise Has A Serpent

19

Warriors, Pink Cakes and 'lil Gray Butts, by Cjay

**Every Paradise Has a Serpent**

_**Previously in Part Three of Warriors, Pink Cakes and Lil' Gray butts; another stirring chapter in the continuing adventures of that delectable hard candy confection, with the soft chewy center, Jack O'Neill: **_

Ignoring Colonel Mitchell's light snore, Rowdy piloted the X-303 beyond dusk into the opulence of night. He had to admit it, despite his dislike of the close confines, flying this craft was a thrill; cruising at this altitude, the stars seemed closer and the universe formidable.

Suddenly, the darkness was replaced by an opaque intensity of white light. Blinded, he groped for the autopilot and flipped the switch. "Mitchell!"

_**Now on to Part Four…**_

Brilliance expanded into a multitude of colors, searing his eyes, utterly destroying vision. Within a heartbeat, grating metal exploded. Sharp needles penetrated every inch of vulnerable flesh unprotected by his body armor, robbing him of breath. The blast's concussion came next, assaulting Rowdy's ears with a shrill high-pitched whine that expanded into overwhelming silence. Ensnared, his body continued to writhe in pain for a never-ending millisecond and then, quite suddenly, his synapses surrendered to oblivion.

oooo

"…something must be terribly wrong for them to snatch Daniel like…" Sam trailed off self-consciously. _'Oh boy, not again…'_ Closing her eyes, against the sea of light, the kidnapped Colonel Carter indulged in a silent prayer of hope. _'Lord, let it be the Asgard.'_

Ever fascinated by human reaction, Jorgen noted the female's defensive body stance with insensate detachment. According to the Supreme Commander, this being possessed a most impressive capacity to both comprehend and adapt to any given situation. "Greetings, Colonel Carter."

Recognizing the puppet-like warble of an Asgard, Sam squinted past the cloudy spots obscuring her vision. "Commander Thor?"

"Is presently occupied and awaiting your sage counsel in the assembly room." Jorgen responded dispassionately. "But first, are you quite well? You're not experiencing any distress or negative response due to our mode of transport?"

'_Negative effect?'_ General O'Neill's snort echoed sarcastically in her brain. _'Nah, we mere humans love it when a "vastly superior race" plucks us from terra firma, perverts our flesh into light particles and launches us into the unknown. Yep, makes for a grand start to any day.'_ Biting the inside of her lip, Sam smothered a snicker.

Taking a quick inventory, she fell into step alongside the pint-sized extraterrestrial. "Other than a brief bit of visual disturbance, I'm not aware of any untoward effect."

"Excellent." The slighter figure responded with a small nod of his large misshaped gray head. "Unfortunately, your colleague, Colonel Mitchell appears to have had a most disagreeable reaction."

Sam's mouth went dry. Mitchell was here too? "Is he…?"

"Injured?" Sensing the tall human's discomfort, Jorgen attempted to offer encouragement. "I assure you he is physically unharmed. However, his emotional response to our present situation gives me pause."

"Presumably, the colonel has been deeply affected by our impromptu retrieval." Jorgen expanded coolly. "I refer specifically to his rather extraordinary use of language."

"Extraordinary?" Sam echoed unhappily.

"Outrageous would be more to the point."

"I'm not sure I understand." Sam exhaled slowly, hoping to dispel the large knot in her stomach.

"While his outward appearance seems tranquil enough, one might venture to say, your Colonel Mitchell may have outdistanced O'Neill's rather remarkable command of human expletives."

Ushering Colonel Carter ahead of himself with a hint of a bow, the nude little creature continued, "He reports that he is in fact, 'madder than a hatter."' Cocking his head to one side, Jorgen glanced upward. "Most astounding, I was not aware those who fashioned headgear on your world had a tendency toward insanity."

"They don't." Resisting the urge to laugh, Sam missed a step. "The colonel employed a rather archaic colloquialism referring to a children's tale. In other words, he is extremely angry."

Studying her intently, Jorgen nodded slowly. "I see…another phrase or figure of speech, such as O'Neill's similar assertion that those entrusted with the forwarding of written communications on your world are often moved to violence."

"Yes." Sam agreed stoically.

"Most intriguing." The alien's enormous almond-shaped eyes blinked lazily. His thin-lipped mouth seemed to quirk with undisguised self-satisfaction. "I have been avidly studying your race for some time now, and I find both your Colonel Mitchell, and O'Neill's command of phraseology most colorful."

"Colorful?" Sam coughed lightly. "Yes, indeed they are that."

"I imagine continual discourse with two such vivid individuals must be a most rewarding experience for a scientist, Colonel Cater."

Unexpectedly, Cameron Mitchell's charismatic Southern drawl, corrupted by fury, reverberated along the corridor, punctuating the little alien's vast understatement. "Well pardon my candor, but I don't give a rat's ass!"

"More than you'll ever know, Jorgen," Sam's eyes twinkled lightly. "More than you'll ever know."

oo

"I repeat, I don't give a rat's ass, you're 'Highness'…" Mitchell snarled, "Who the hell gave you the right to highjack me and abandon both, my co-pilot and craft!"

Moving swiftly through the open entryway and into a vast chamber filled almost to capacity with an assortment of naked, gray-hued Asgard, Sam was relieved to see Daniel Jackson.

Offering Sam an imploring glance, the generally cool-headed archeologist moved to position himself strategically between an overtly angry Cam Mitchell and one visibly incensed diminutive alien.

"Mitchell you're not helping." Daniel asserted with undisguised frustration. "Look Astrid, Colonel Mitchell is right, we don't leave our people behind. Besides, we may need the X-303."

"I agree with Dr. Jackson..." Thor's tenor began earnestly.

"Ah, excuse me." Sam interrupted lightly. "What's going on?"

Thor glided to her side. "Welcome, Samantha Carter, it is good to see you." Inserting his small, smooth, four-fingered hand into Sam's, he gently pulled her forward.

Following in his wake, Sam repeated her question.

"Apparently, our little gray pal here, the esteemed High Councilor Astrid…" Jerking his thumb with obvious disdain, Cameron indicated the petite Asgard standing just beyond Daniel. "…came to the intoxicated, and might I add - reckless, conclusion that our diplomatic emissaries were no longer welcome. So naturally, she jettisoned General O'Neill and Teal'c into the void."

Turning her small back on Mitchell, Astrid exhaled impatiently. "As I've repeatedly explained to both Dr. Jackson and your most unreasonable teammate, I did not transport either O'Neill, or the Jaffa, into the vast emptiness of deep space."

"Ha!" Mitchell snorted. "And where exactly did you transport them?"

Directing her sloe-eyed gaze at her feet, Astrid responded tightly. "I'm not sure."

"Ha! She can't remember! Clearly, the esteemed High Councilor believes scattering our lowly human molecules to the four winds anytime she feels the urge is just fine." Cameron snapped triumphantly. "Don't try to deny it! Drunk or sober, my presence here is undeniable proof of your egocentric arrogance! For the love of God Astrid, you zapped me right outta the X-303 cockpit and left my co-pilot adrift!"

"Hardly adrift…" Astrid protested.

"He might as well be…" Cameron rounded angrily. "Major Mortensen has had exactly one hour of flight time in that craft. On top of that, General O'Neill entrusted him to my care."

Swearing under his breath, Cam ran one hand through his short hair. "Look, I am through playing around here; I demand you beam him up now!"

"O'Neill entrusted this major to your care, Colonel Mitchell?" Thor inquired with quiet intensity.

"Yes, he did." Cameron answered tersely. "And, as you well know Thor, nothing O'Neill ever does is as simple as it seems."

"No, indeed not." Thor responded fondly, ignoring Astrid's harrumph. "We must never underrate O'Neill's rare ability to appear simple."

Releasing Samantha's hand, Thor adopted a regal stance. "Jorgen, transport both the X-303, and the young major, onto the ship."

OO

_**Meanwhile: Lost and unarmed on some unknown planet – slash moon, our fearless hero Jack O'Neill lays broken and battered awaiting aid, while his trusty companion, the mighty Jaffa, Teal'c, scouts the unfamiliar terrain…**_

O'Neill shifted his head, careful not to upset the various gooey poultices applied to his injured anatomy. Despite long years of practice, he was finding it difficult to ignore the screaming pain of his broken right knee. The vision in his uncovered right eye kept blurring in and out. Consciousness was becoming ever more fleeting. He needed to focus on something besides the vaulted crystal ceiling above.

Adjusting his aching shoulders, Jack burrowed into the material beneath him a bit more. Something hard and knobby was poking the base of his skull demanding attention. "Crap." Reaching gingerly behind his head, Jack slowly wormed the offending article out of one of the pockets of his dress uniform jacket. The feel of worn wood against his callused palm, was like a balm for his soul. Running his crooked thumb over the object's surface, he clutched the hard double-disk to his chest, releasing a long sigh. "Ah, that's better."

'_Okay O'Neill, you've gotta focus. Let's see now, Pedro Flores patented his Yo-Yo in 1928…Donald F. Duncan bought the rights during the depression of the 1930's…by the late 1960's the majority of Yo-Yo's were made of plastic, making wooden models a true expert's dream…Charlie used to love his small collection. I'll bet he's dazzling a few of those archangels up there beyond the pearly gates. Ya-sure-ya-betcha…when it came to spinning the old double-disks there wasn't a trick that boy couldn't master. Yeppers, he sure did make me proud.' _

Closing his good eye, Jack conjured a picture of Charlie's face the day he first mastered "around the world"… it was a great memory. Somewhere off in the distance a deep voice chided him to stay awake…but somehow, Jack just didn't want to anymore. Slowly, awareness dimmed and he surrendered to sleep.

**OoOo**

Teal'c moved with panther-like grace through the tall grass, his eyes darting to-and-fro, avidly weighing their newfound surroundings. Taken at face value this world seemed benign enough; else he would not have risked leaving his stricken warrior-brother's side. Then again, instinct and experience bred caution, giving rise to an innate need to verify such a naive assumption.

Suddenly, a dark undulating form slithered along his peripheral vision. Distracted Teal'c lost his footing. As he descended into the shadows, O'Neill's oft repeated remark echoed ironically inside his skull._ 'Every paradise had its' serpents.'_

OoOo

Lightening flickered inside the obsidian depths. Odd trilling voices whispered, echoing in the darkness; they teased and pulled, demanding attention.

"Loki, please tell me you've not been remiss."

"Indeed not."

"What then accounts for his lack of consciousness?"

"I have no explanation, Supreme Commander."

"Has Major Mortensen suffered an injury?"

"Nothing…current."

"Must you be so cryptic, Loki." Thor bit off, expelling a long-suffering sigh. _'I concede O'Neill's ongoing allegation regarding our race's penchant for obscurity'_

"According to the readings, the human has sustained no recent physical trauma. However, our scans do reveal extensive evidence of previous damage both neurological and muscular-skeletal in nature."

"How recent?"

"It is difficult to be precise…" Loki began thoughtfully, "…these humans all heal at differing rates."

"Indulge me."

"Perhaps, within the past six to twelve lunar rotations."

"Why then does the young major remain in such a state?"

"I am at a loss, Supreme Commander. We can do nothing more than allow the medical pod to enhance his body's innate healing abilities."

"I understand, Loki. However, I fear Colonel Mitchell will be most unsatisfied."

Mitchell…the name echoed within in the blackness, both familiar and strange. Mitch? Captain Mitch Logan? No! Mitch was gone…his body vaporized. Nothing left of his mischievous grin, but shrapnel and misshaped chunks of white and pink pulp.

'_God!' _He had to get to the others…they were pinned down…no way was he leaving them behind to suffer the same fate as Logan…Rowdy pushed the helicopter pilot's lifeless remains aside, grabbed the stick and powered her up. Taking the Black Hawk in low, he launched the last of the craft's missiles, effectively obliterating the enemy…but not before taking a hit.

The craft wobbled briefly, her joystick frozen. Out of control the chopper fell lifelessly out of the sky, plummeting silently toward the desert floor…seconds later, the world exploded. Bits of grit filled his mouth, coupled with the metallic taste of blood - drowning him in a sea of sand.

Panic seized sanity. Letting go, Rowdy sought oblivion's welcome embrace.

OooO

"Not exactly the condition we expected to find him in is it?" Mitchell bit off tersely.

"No, it is most certainly not." Thor concurred remorsefully.

Sniffing sharply, Mitchell's eyebrows arched skyward. "So?"

"We are unable to justify this aberration, Colonel Mitchell." Loki's shrill response revealed his trepidation. "We are hopeful that with time…"

"With time…!" Mitchell's tanned countenance flushed red.

Thor forcefully cleared his throat. "There has been no transporter malfunction here, Colonel Mitchell. The major's body has been reintegrated just as it was found."

"Which means…?" Colonel Samantha Carter coaxed.

"His present state is not a direct result of our technology." Thor confirmed flatly.

"On a positive note; your ship appears to be fully functional." Loki interjected brightly.

"Well, la-dee-da!" Mitchell snorted.

"I don't think sarcasm is going to help us here, Mitchell." Daniel Jackson interrupted.

"Loki, I believe your presence is required elsewhere." Thor advised sternly.

Squelching the urge to strangle the tactless scientist's retreating form, Cam rounded on his teammate. "What now, Jackson?"

"Hmm?" Daniel responded distractedly. Rubbing his chin, he circled the motionless man encased within the Asgard healing pod.

Exchanging a knowing look with Mitchell, Sam cleared her throat. "Daniel?"

"What? Oh, sorry." Pulled from his reverie, Jackson adjusted his spectacles. "Mortensen appears to be in some form of deep sleep."

"A conclusion our sensors confirm." Thor interjected. "And yet, we've been unable to rouse him."

Reaching out, Daniel shook the unresponsive man's forearm "I'm wondering if this…stupor is the result of a flashback of some kind."

Noting Sam's questioning gaze Daniel shrugged sheepishly. "When Mitchell told me Jack asked him to 'look after the major' I got curious. So naturally, I decided to make use of my rather lofty security clearance."

"It's amazing what comes naturally to one after years of associating with General Jack O'Neill."

Choosing to ignore Sam's wry commentary, he continued, "I read Major Ronan, a.k.a Rowdy, Mortensen's dossier. And well, you know how Jack likes to editorialize his past with cryptic responses about having been around the block a time or two? Suffice it to say, the major has a great deal in common with his new commanding officer."

Catching on, Sam Carter drew alongside the reflective archeologist. "So, you're thinking post-traumatic stress disorder?"

"That's an interesting hypothesis, Dr. Jackson." Thor intoned.

"And, one hell of a stretch don't you think?" Cam questioned, with a squint.

"Why?" Daniel tossed back calmly. "Mortensen wouldn't be the first combat veteran to experience something like this."

"Okay…" Mitchell granted reluctantly, "Let's say I buy this theory of yours…I would've expected him to be…ya know…combative or even squirrelly…not catatonic."

Puffing his cheeks, Cam crossed his arms over his chest. "And, if this is the result of the past, why here and now? What set him off?"

"Well," Daniel began, "We all react to overwhelming stress differently."

Mitchell's look remained skeptical, but Daniel was just getting warmed up. "I mean look at it from Mortensen's perspective; you're flying an unfamiliar aircraft when suddenly it's engulfed by some kind of 'alien' light…a light so brilliant that it effectively blinds you. Add to that…"

"It snatched me right out of my seat, taking me God knows where, leaving him, alone and abandoned, in the vast emptiness of space." Mitchell chipped in dramatically.

"An event like that would scare the living crap out of most people." Daniel's animated eyebrows danced fervently, "According to his file, Mortensen's helicopter was shot down. It crashed and exploded, literally burying him under a ton of smoldering debris…Pretty traumatic if you ask me."

"You believe his mind is seeking refuge from our transport beam?" Thor queried with intrigue.

"For all intents and purposes, yes."

"It took hours for the rescue team to dig the major free." Daniel expanded ardently, "According to the medic's report, Mortensen's entire spine was shattered, he was horribly burned and…"

"Comatose." Cam supplied curtly.

"Basically." Daniel confirmed.

"That's a big leap there, Jackson."

"If that's true, then maybe all we need to do is communicate that he's safe." Sam Carter, put forth with a shrug.

"Okay." Cam Mitchell agreed warily. "That sounds deceptively simple. So, what do we do?"

"What would O'Neill do?" Thor asked quietly.

"Eat cake?" Sam supplied wistfully.

"After the cake." Thor responded dryly.

"All things considered, Jack would try the most direct route." Leaning over Mortensen's still form, Daniel whispered, "It's okay to wake up now Ronan, you're safe here."

The quiescent major's face remained impassive, his body still.

"That won't do, Jackson. Do ya think the general would be so dainty about it?" Taking a deep breath, Mitchell bellowed, "It's 0500 airman, haul your lazy arse up and out of the sack!"

Rowdy's eyelids fluttered briefly, but he slept on.

"Well, that was productive." Mitchell harrumphed, flatly.

"If I may be so bold, Colonel Mitchell; perhaps, this man's loyalty may be the key." Plucking a small colorful wooden disk from a nearby console, Thor glided over to the medical pod. "We found this on his person. I believe it is one of O'Neill's favorites."

Grasping the sleeping man's limp palm, the little Asgard gently pressed against his unyielding flesh, enfolding the object inside Rowdy's still fingers.

"General O'Neill has need of you, Major Mortensen." The Asgard Supreme Commander informed him regally. "The time for dreaming is at an end. You must get up!"

Mortensen's limp fingers enclosed the Yo-Yo firmly. Inhaling deeply, he abruptly woke up. Catching sight of the naked Asgard, he yelped, "General?!"

"Greetings, Major Mortensen, I am Thor, a close personal friend of your General O'Neill."

Gulping, Rowdy clutched the double-disk to his chest and slowly looked around. Spying Colonel Mitchell standing alongside the bizarre little alien, his face lit up briefly. "Colonel, where is the general?" Struggling against the confining medical pod, he attempted to sit upright.

"I fear that O'Neill's whereabouts are somewhat of a mystery at present, Major." Thor responded sadly.

"Crap." Rowdy replied flatly. "Get me out of this thing!"

oOOo

"Get me the hell out of this thing, will ya Teal'c?" Jarred awake, Jack rapidly came to the bleary conclusion, he'd been imprisoned. As he swayed rhythmically from side to side, the vaulted green tinged crystal ceiling sparkling dizzily above seemed to taunt him. Suspended between two large poles, his entire body was uncomfortably encased inside some kind of enormous, pungent, and disgustingly slimy, wet leaves. Only his right uninjured eye, nose, mouth and chin protruded beyond the bizarre chrysalis, making movement impossible.

"Please, you must be still, my lord, I beg you." A child-like voice pleaded from somewhere near his right ear.

"Be still my ass! Put me down!" Momentum, coupled with Jack's inability to move, and a sudden rush of adrenaline, was making his head aching spin, dammit. He felt like he was going to hurl!

"Perhaps we should halt and explain the situation to Lord Onall, Boudicca." The voice suggested deferentially.

"Yes, bodacious…explain." Jack demanded, enunciating each word forcefully. "But first, I suggest you unzip this giant snow pea!"

Apparently, whoever had incarcerated him recognized authority when they heard it, because his swaying abruptly ceased. As he was gently lowered toward the ground, a familiar cherubic face came into view.

Jack squinted upward. Swallowing his nausea, he smirked grimly. "So, Sonny Jim, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Sonny Jim?" Leaning over O'Neill's prone form, the cherub's round face reflected his confusion. "Ah, you seek to test me." The little one assumed, with a quick smile. "It is I, your servant, Hubbard of the Ynis Prydain."

"Okay…" Jack muttered unhappily. This was so not his day. "And I'm…"

"You are my champion and savior, the Lord of Aurora, he who has tamed the darkness and befriended her protector, the legendary Onall."

"Savior huh? See, I am a bit fuzzy on a couple things here. Must be the blow to my noggin. If you're my servant, then why am I in custody? And, just exactly who is this protector of the night."

"Custody?" The diminutive warrior echoed the unknown word. "I do not understand."

"Lord Onall believes we have taken him prisoner." A deep feminine voice informed Hubbard waspishly. "Cease your mindless prattle young one and stand aside."

The voice expanded, as a tiny wizened woman's face seemed to float into Jack's line of vision. "We are not your captors, Lord Onall."

Bending forward, the diminutive crone carefully loosened the snug wrappings confining his upper torso. "I'm called Boudicca, the Sage. I have secured your damaged body inside the Dhrupad plant's fronds to promote its healing."

"While I appreciate your intentions, I prefer to be unfettered." Jack informed her not unkindly.

"As you command." Sighing, Boudicca continued to remove the most constricting layers of foliage. "However, I insist that the inner most fronds remain against your flesh."

As the gigantic leaves were slowly peeled from his body, cold air assaulted his skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Jack realized, that save for those last remaining bits of vegetation, he was naked. Hugging the gooey mass slathered over the vicinity of his privates closer, he agreed, "Sounds like a plan to me."

Smiling over his modesty, the healer thrust his trusty Yo-Yo into his right hand and sat back on her haunches. "You are not the first youngster I've tended, Onall."

"I'm sure." Jack coughed. Striving to regain his equilibrium, he put on his best command face. "Now then you mentioned a 'protector of darkness'…"

"Your brother, Tymon was not at your side when we reached you." Hubbard piped up. "We thought perhaps he'd gone seeking more of the Albion root. We've sent out warriors to find him and lead him to our village."

"You couldn't wait for him to return?" Jack asked quietly, fighting a shiver. Suddenly, he was feeling less than 'Peachy.'

Noting his reaction, the sage removed her thick cloak and draped it over him. "We could not. Even now your flesh fights a fever within. I have indulged you long enough."

Fighting a wave of drowsiness, Jack protested petulantly. "Now wait just one cotton picking…"

"Enough, My Lord." Waving imperiously, she instructed half dozen Lilliputian men to take up O'Neill's litter once more. Placing her hand on his feverish brow, she crooned, "Rest assured your wellbeing is my utmost concern."

He was about to protest more loudly, but the little woman's hand felt deliciously cool and strangely comforting. And, almost before he knew it, Jack fell deeply into sleep.

oo

tbc 

2006


	5. What mystery is this?

What mystery is this

15

Warriors, Pink Cakes and 'lil Gray Butts, by Cjay

**What Mystery Is This?**

_**Previously in Part Four of Warriors, Pink Cakes and Lil' Gray butts; another stirring chapter in the continuing adventures of that delectable hard candy confection, with the soft chewy center, Jack O'Neill: **_

_A panicked, and very hung over, Asgard High Council has been appropriating various members of SG-1 – without their consent and aggravating Colonel Mitchell to the brink of insanity. Our new friend, Major Mortensen suffered a loss of consciousness bought on by his abduction. And our favorite hero, Jack, sans Teal'c, has been effectively imprisoned inside a giant vegetable burrito and carried off by a gang of well-meaning munchkins._

_Um, did somebody mention Teal'c? _

It wasn't the roar of the crashing surf, or the piercing screech of gulls that woke him. It was the sharp sting of frigid salt water raging against his torn flesh. Battling a deep wracking cough, Teal'c struggled to sit upright. Cradling his aching head in one hand, he used the remains of his t-shirt to wipe the grit from his bleary eyes and looked around.

What mystery was this? He remembered tumbling endlessly into darkness, only to awake here on a desolate rock-strewn beach. There was no sign of the jungle-like terrain, or the strange vast crystal cavern, he'd experienced just before his fall. Instead, he now found himself surrounded by sparkling black sands and uneven multi-colored boulders, lying at the base of a steep cliff, adjacent to a wildly rolling body of water. Just how long and how far had he fallen? And more importantly, where was O'Neill?

Breathlessly trying to ignore the merciless heat of the bright yellow sun overhead, the beleaguered Jaffa pushed himself to his feet and stumbled away from the cold unforgiving sea.

oOOo

The pad of Rowdy's right thumb continued its circular rotation over the Yo-Yo's smooth wood. He was still trying to come to grips with the wild saga that Colonels Mitchell and Carter, along with an honest-to-goodness real-live alien being, had laid out for him. It was a hell of a lot to process.

Taking in the strangely lit screen displaying a large star map, he shrugged off the little gray medical technician dogging him. "So, Dr. Jackson, if I am reading all this correctly, both the general and Teal'c has each been implanted with a subcutaneous tracking device …"

Wincing at the rasping quality of his voice, Rowdy took another sip from the flask of hot fluid forced upon him by an insistent Loki. "But for some reason, despite this advanced technology, the Asgard are currently unable to locate them?"

Jackson took note of the lack of accusation in Mortensen's tone with a grateful sigh. "Yes, that's it in a nutshell."

Stepping away from the odd group huddled over an Asgard control panel; Daniel studied Jack's new protégé noting the bright bit of wood Mortensen continued to clutch in his hand. The mere presence of said object spoke volumes about O'Neill's opinion regarding this particular young officer. After all, once upon a time, Jack's unique style of mentoring had transformed a naïve and all too green doctor of archeology into a savvy member of SG-1. And, over the past hour or so, the major's aplomb in handling the circumstances surrounding today's events, enhanced Daniel's opinion of the man behind the uniform.

"We've all been implanted with one, each with its own singular transmission. Thanks to Jack, it's standard procedure for all off-world teams." Gesturing towards the star map, Daniel indicated a vast array of pulsating multi-colored lights scattered about the galaxy.

"An Asgard innovation first employed by the High Council in an effort to insure O'Neill's safety," Astrid embellished smugly.

"Ah yes, that was back when you all thought the general was the answer to your genetic woes." Mitchell interrupted acidly. "Never mind that you failed to inform him about it at the time."

"Actually, many of us thought it a great waste of resources." Astrid sniffed disdainfully.

"But, like all technologies the devices are not infallible." Daniel went on, ignoring the Asgard Councilor's rudeness.

"Something must be interfering with the Jaffa and O'Neill's signals." Loki supplied absentmindedly, running his diagnostic crystal over the tall major for the umpteenth time. "Major, are you quite sure I cannot induce you to lie back within the medical pod for another span of time? Your body still requires healing."

Draining the last bitter dregs of liquid from the flask, Rowdy pressed it into the diminutive alien's hands. "My body is not the priority at the moment, Loki."

"I beg to differ…"

"Zip it, please. I don't need a nursemaid." Patting the creature's cool gray head, Rowdy gently shooed him aside. "Later, I promise."

"I shall refill your flask then." Loki harrumphed loudly and stalked away.

"Seems you've acquired a guardian, Mortensen." Daniel remarked wryly, hiding his grin behind a thoughtful hand.

"Oh, joy." Rowdy muttered, rolling his eyes. "It's no wonder the general resorted to the use of intoxication."

Sam Carter ran a frustrated hand through her already tangled hair. "The tracking devices failed in the past when Colonel Mitchell, Daniel, Teal'c and that female mercenary, Vala, were inside the underground cavern Merlin created in England. And to date, we've still not figured out why that happened exactly."

"They also winked out when those Elysian pirates incinerated the entire contingent of one of our scout ships." Mitchell added starkly. "I think we need to face the possibility that we've truly lost them this time."

"Colonel Mitchell, we are talking about the general and Teal'c here. A pair who has made it their life's work to…how would O'Neill phrase it... 'Beat the odds."' Thor chided gently.

"Perhaps, they're surrounded by some sort of dampening or electromagnetic field…" Loki threw in distractedly. Cocking his head to one side thoughtfully, the diminutive medical tyrant pressed another overflowing flask of 'healing herb tea' into Major Mortensen's reluctant hands.

Stifling a groan, Rowdy accepted the flask and took an obedient sip. "I understand the negative effects of an EM field, but…"

"It is also quite possible that they are on a planet whose mass contains an over abundance of metallic materials." Loki continued coolly.

"Or one surrounded by an asteroid field laden with metals." Jorgen inserted dryly. Quietly observing the exchange, he'd positioned himself so that he had a bird's eye view of all the rooms' occupants.

Sam jumped on the possibility enthusiastically, "Thor, are there any such planets or moons…"

"Alas Samantha, none within the coordinates Astrid has postulated might be their destination." Thor responded dejectedly.

"This is a waste of time." Astrid snarled defensively. "I am sure the great and legendary O'Neill will soon make contact. I understand he's made a career out of 'getting lost' only to miraculously reappear virtually unscathed."

"Astrid such vitriol is both unbecoming and uncalled for." Thor reprimanded sharply.

Jorgen studied the human standing before him intently. With each pronouncement, a bit more of the light seemed to fade from Major Mortensen's bright hazel eyes. The little alien scientist was still attempting to understand 'human nature', but clearly, the loss of his commanding officer was impacting negatively on the young man.

Exchanging a worried look with Loki, who was once again running a diagnostic over his unenthusiastic patient, he strode forward. "Perhaps in her inebriated state, Astrid did more than miscalculate…"

"Meaning, what exactly?" Mitchell snapped. He was sick of the eternal calm of the Asgard.

"Meaning," Loki surmised gleefully, "That I am not the only Asgard to break an inviolate rule in this millennium."

"You forget yourself, Loki!" Astrid shrieked shrilly. "I refused to be subjected to such vile and insulting speculation."

"Then, for your own piece of mind, might I suggest you absent yourself from this investigation, Astrid?" Loki tossed back irreverently.

"Ya know," Mitchell, elbowed Sam jauntily, arching an insolent brow. "I'm starting to like this little renegade."

"Thank you Colonel Mitchell, I find your incisive approach refreshing as well." Ignoring Astrid's hasty departure, Loki glided over to the star map and repositioned a series of silvery crystals situated along its border. Immediately an alternate star map appeared, overlaying the original. This map displayed several hundred additional celestial bodies.

"These are the planets, moons and constellations we Asgard have, by either agreement or treaty, effectively erased from our sanctioned numbers." Loki's long fingered hand motioned expansively.

Shrugging off an overwhelming sense of foreboding, Daniel stepped forward. "Okay, so using the High Councilor's original coordinates. Jack and Teal'c must be in this far western quadrant somewhere."

"Actually, if we consult the ship's computer, I believe we can narrow things down even further."

Just, as Thor moved to slide another crystal into position on the command console, a deep black blip appeared in the very center of the area in question.

"Well, it would seem one of the pair has surfaced." Jorgen informed the group softly.

"The General?" Rowdy voiced hopefully.

"Teal'c." Mitchell established flatly.

"And Jack's?" Daniel whispered wrapping his arms around his upper torso tightly.

"Only the Jaffa's signature has been established."

"Sorry if I'm a bit dim-witted…but why only the one 'light'…where's the general's signal…," Rowdy stammered licking a hint of herbal tea from his lips. "I'm glad we've found Teal'c, but O'Neill…he's…well, irreplaceable…"

A disembodied voice cut the young major's awkward questioning short.

"Commander Thor, this is Hagar aboard the scout ship Lug. We've just begun receiving a transponder beacon. I regret to confirm that it has been located in that area of the galaxy in which we are forbidden access…" Hagar cautioned mechanically. "Please advise."

"Acknowledged, Hagar. We've just located the signal here as well." Thor began somberly. His lipless mouth seemed to set itself into a grim line, as his large head rotated to take in the humans standing expectantly nearby. "I shall have to consult the High Council."

Loki's dark liquid eyes sought and held those of his angst-ridden patient. "I fear Astrid lapse in judgment may well have done far more damage than she knows."

oOOo

Thirst drove Teal'c upward. It had been several years since he'd carried a symbiotic parasite to sustain him, a bald fact, which necessitated acceptance of his mortal needs and limitations.

Thankfully, the small half-filled container of Tretonin that he habitually secured to his belt each day had escaped damage in his fall. Yet, the drug alone would not sustain him. Scaling the mighty promontory he'd found himself stranded beneath would require every bit of strength and reserve the seasoned warrior possessed. And, he was of no value to O'Neill dead.

Making slow progress, his abraded fingers once again found leverage against the sharp uneven face of rock. Breathing heavily, spewing forth a litany of the curse words O'Neill insisted gave one's body strength, he pulled himself up another meter.

Perched on a small outcropping, allowing a brief rest, the taxed Jaffa refused to look down. Judging by the sheer wall of rock looming above him, he was perhaps half-way to his goal. And, he wondered yet again how many hours had passed since he'd left the helpless O'Neill alone in the tall deep grass. O'Neill's wounds, especially the blow to his head, weighed on his mind greatly. How many injuries could his brother of the soul survive?

Teal'c was no longer a religious man, his experience with false Gods had seen to that. Nonetheless, he still believed in a higher power and it was to this spirit or force that he now lent a silent plea. He could have sworn that he heard the echo of O'Neill's last words swirling on the breeze, - "No offense T, but you're the most unattractive nurse I've ever had…I can take care of myself…feel free to run along and explore…secure the perimeter...see if ya can figure out where the heck we are." Perhaps it was exhaustion, or his water-deprived flesh that deluded him? Either way, Teal'c would not abandon his mission. Swiping sweat from his eyes once more, the resilient warrior resumed his climb.

oOOo

Boudicca pulled her thoughts away from the images displayed to her within the fluid mirror and returned to the present. The ancient wisdom revealed that despite his descent into the darkness The Onall's brother Tymon lived. This was both welcome and regrettable. Soon the ebony hero would summon others to the world of the Ynis Prydain and life as they'd always known it would cease to exist.

Sighing, she pushed the large shallow bowl of mercury aside, "Our time grows short, young one." Leaning heavily on a scarred cane fashioned of ancient oak, the wizened sage pushed herself upright, motioning to the little cherub waiting patiently nearby. "The coming ordeal will require all of your newfound courage. Are you up to the task to which the Gods and the Lord of Aurora have called you?"

"I am, Great Mother." Hubbard intoned solemnly. Suppressing a tremor, he accepted the twisted wand of sacred wood from her hand and knelt for her final blessing.

Bowing regally, Boudicca rested her aged hands against Hubbard's golden cap of curls, and gazed deeply into his unlined face. "Go forth and be of service. The fate of your people now rests with you."

oOOo

"I'm grateful someone finally thought to update me." General Landry barked sardonically.

"I am sorry it took so long to contact you, Sir." Sam Carter felt her cheeks go warm. "I'm afraid we've all been distracted…"

"Never mind, Colonel," Landry relented, with a wave. "What is the status on launching a rescue?"

"Well, General Landry, Sir." Cam Mitchell cast a scathing look aside. "Our esteemed hosts apparently find entering that region of the galaxy taboo."

"Why?"

"Why do these folks do any of the things they do?" Cam ventured, his patience long ended. "Why are our people missing in the first place? Why, were Sam and Daniel hijacked from the SGC? Why was I yanked outta my ship in the middle of space? Not to mention my 'co-pilot' Mortensen – the poor sucker was catatonic when they finally deigned to hoist his butt aboard…"

"Colonel Carter has already outlined the day's events." Landry offered a longsuffering sigh. "I understand your anger, Colonel, but would it be asking too much for you to cut the sarcasm and get to the point?"

Cam had the good grace to appear sheepish. "Respectfully, General Landry, I'd love to, but as per usual, our little gray 'friends' are keeping us in the dark!"

"Why?"

"General, they refuse to explain why." Daniel's wrinkled forehead resembled that of a ninety-year old man. "Presently they're all still arguing the matter. Frankly, General, I'm worried they'll prevent us from launching any form of rescue from here."

"Understood." Landry's lips twisted sourly. "I'll have one of our cruisers re-routed to your area of the galaxy."

"Actually sir, I was thinking Major Mortensen and I might take a little scouting trip in the X-303." Cam Mitchell declared silkily.

"Let's give them an hour." Landry informed him with equally unctuous charm. "We don't want to upset your hosts. If they continue to prove indecisive, then we take action."

"Yes, Sir." The group agreed in unison.

"Oh, and Cam?" Landry smiled evilly. "In the meantime, you and the major check out the X-303 and make sure she hasn't sustained any damage."

"Understood, General Landry, Sir," Mitchell's smirk mirrored that of his general.

oOOo

Adjusting the ambient temperature within the healing pod, Loki argued softly with Jorgen. "Given the circumstances, I believe it is our only option."

Contemplating the young human as he lay in repose within his metallic cocoon, Jorgen shook his head. "Loki, the earthling only submitted to the pod because his superior, Colonel Mitchell, ordered him to do so. And, he agreed to a brief sojourn at that."

"Clearly, it is indeed fortunate that the counsel was convened, else the earthling would have stubbornly denied himself." Tapping his scrawny chin with one of his tapered digits, Loki fidgeted in his seat. "I do not proclaim to understand the strange inner workings of O'Neill's mind, but I am confident that he'd insist the major be completely healed before venturing forth to rescue him."

"And you know this because…?" Jorgen demanded imperiously.

"Despite your study of human sociology, you were not there when O'Neill pleaded for his clone's life." The smaller gray being insisted somberly. "For the first time in my long years of experimentation, I felt shamed. And, you need not remind me again that I am not a God, Jorgen. I have learned my lesson."

Jorgen found no merit in rehashing that old argument. "O'Neill is an odd warrior."

"General O'Neill is more than a warrior; he's a soldier, an officer and a gentleman." Rowdy advised sleepily from within the pod. "There's a difference."

"How long have you been awake, human?" Loki demanded aghast. The effects of the sleeping draft he'd added to Mortensen's last beaker of herbal infusion should have lasted longer than a mere forty-five Earth minutes. Just how much of their debate had the earthling overheard?

"Long enough." Rowdy assured him with a yawn.

Intrigued, Jorgen sidled up to the medical pod. "Please explain."

"Oh, I suppose all those months in hospitals on medication adjusted my tolerance to things."

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Rowdy stifled another yawn. Besides, I knew you'd spiked that last cup of tea, it finally tasted sweet, so I tossed most of it."

"You 'tossed it!' That remedy was an essential part of your recovery…"

"Hush, Loki." Jorgen admonished. "Please explain the difference between a warrior and a soldier?"

"You mean to say that you don't know?" Sitting upright, the major offered an amazed grin. "I'm stunned."

"As am I." Cameron Mitchell snorted, leaning against what served as a doorjamb on this alien vessel. "Thought you superior types knew everything. How're ya feeling Mortensen?"

"Surprisingly fine, Colonel." In fact he hadn't felt this good since before his last tour in the desert. "I was just about to…"

"Good." Mitchell cut him off, rubbing his hands together brusquely. "Well then, since you're done napping, General Landry wants us to give the X-303 the once over."

Reading between the lines, Rowdy hopped to his feet.

"The craft is imminently flight worthy, Colonel Mitchell." Loki protested, moving to block the tall major's progress. "While I have yet to ascertain my patient's…"

"Major Mortensen, you have yet to finish explaining O'Neill's oddities." Hoping to bolster his college's plea, Jorgen also attempted to intercept the human.

"Shucks, Jorgen." Mitchell drawled using his best southern charm. "Why the general is an enigma." Shrugging, he turned on his heel. Twisting slightly, he offered the major a measured look. "Ain't that right Mortensen?"

"Yep." Sidestepping the alien pair, Rowdy hastened to join his superior officer. "That's about it. An enigma….cloaked in mystery, draped in camouflaged…"

"Colonel Mitchell, Major Mortensen, we protest…"

"Catch ya later, guys. My thanks to you both," Rowdy tossed over his shoulder, "I haven't felt this good in an eternity."

"An eternity?" Mitchell chortled. "Just how ancient are you anyway, Mortensen? I mean, jeez, kid. I've got boots older than you."

"With respect," Rowdy volleyed congenially, "I doubt it."

"Hah! In fact, you're so wet behind the ears that I'm tempted to find you a sugar tit to suck on." Mitchell tossed back enjoying the exchange.

"Really? Well considering the aged quality of that remark…."

"Aged as in Roquefort or Gorgonzola…?"

Once the departing humans' inane conversation and echoing boot steps faded away, the two Asgard exchanged a sly look of simpatico before sauntering off on a stealth operation of their own.

oOOo

Straining mightily, Teal'c hoisted himself up and over the plateau's final jagged crag. Panting, he rolled over bits of sharp uneven rubble and onto his back. Only his haggard breathing, along with the distant pounding of the sea, greeted him. All else was interminable silence.

Turning his head to one side, he looked out over a desolate expanse of what appeared to be glittering shards of rainbow hued glass. No sign of habitation, no creature flew overhead, no hint of flora or fauna scented the breeze.

He was alone.

Throwing one arm over his face to shield his burning eyes from the harsh sun, the veteran warrior's agile mind swiftly evaluated his situation. Energy had become an elusive firefly, and he was dangerously close to final collapse, leaving him few options.

Employing long years of discipline, he willed his breathing to slow and regulate, affording his taxed lungs time to chase recovery, unconsciously beginning the descent into the meditative state of Kel'no'reem. While lack of a symbiotic parasite made this ritual unnecessary to daily survival, Teal'c found continuing the regimen afforded him great peace and relaxation that empowered his body, restoring his mind's sense of balance. Dangerous as employing such a tactic might be at this juncture; not engaging in this respite would be an invitation to death. And so, the weary Jaffa let go and drifted.

OoOo

Ignoring an occasional curious Asgard stare, Mitchell and Mortensen continued their lighthearted banter until they'd safely reached the deserted hangar where their mercurial allies had secured the X-303. Mindful of possible remote surveillance, Mitchell was careful to maintain an air of nonchalance as he guided the major though a quick pre-flight check list. Then giving Mortensen a quick wink, he checked his watch, nodded to himself and quickly swung up into the cockpit. "Hop on into the second seat sonny-boy and we'll fire her up, gotta make sure the engine is still mint."

"Roger that, Sir." Scrambling to comply, Rowdy lightly touched the small pocket where he'd secured the general's talisman, squeezed into his place and donned his head-set.

Adjusting his helmet, Mitchell gave his earpiece a bit of a shake and blew into the mouthpiece, "feeeewwww…you copy, Mortensen?"

"Affirmative, Sir."

Hitting a switch, Mitchell closed the canopy and fired up the engine. "I don't think I need to tell you that we may not get too far…"

"No worries, Colonel…" Rowdy replied distractedly, eyeing the closed hangar bay doors. "This ain't my first time on the merry-go-round ya know. I'm just wondering how the hell we're gonna get this lightening bug outta the mayonnaise jar."

"Well as to that," Mitchell volleyed jauntily. "This ain't my first time at the fair either…"

Breaking in, a decidedly human voice whispered, "Okay Cam, you're good to go."

"Roger that, Jackson." Mitchell responded quietly. Eyeing the rapidly expanding opening ahead, he slapped the accelerator. "Watch you're ass… we'll see ya on the other side of midnight."

Jackson's sarcastic reply was lost in the high pitched scream of swift flight.

Rowdy contemplated the enormity of the alien vessel as their svelte craft exited her side and flew past her starboard seemingly undetected. "That's some mayonnaise jar…"

"Yeah. Ya know, the general often complained about old doc Jackson's penchant for touching relics and such… seems it lead to the opening of more than one can of worms…"

"I'm glad he hasn't lost his touch."

"Oh yeah, the old man would be proud."

oOOo

Fragmented images of torture and unending anguish assailed him, until some deep instinct for self preservation drove his terror ridden subconscious out of the unrelenting hollowness of sleep into the semi-awareness of dawn. There in the half-light, eyes squeezed shut in slowly fading terror; he found the courage to escape the last remnant of some unnamed grief.

Running a sandy tongue over parched lips, he cracked one eye open attempting to focus on the thatched ceiling above. It did not look familiar.

His mind seemed to be responding rather sluggishly, as if he'd been adrift for a very long time. Sighing, he inhaled the pleasant aroma of germaniums that wafted upwards from a soft covering thrown over his naked body. Attempting to stretch his aching arms, he noticed that his left wrist and both hands were covered by odd dressings. Mystified, he sought to shift his lower half, an act which elicited an involuntary moan from somewhere deep within. Oddly, he found the excruciating bolts of white lightening ripping through his right knee, both familiar and vaguely comforting. Using his unfettered hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose lightly and thought hard. He had one hell-of-a headache and somebody had secured his injured leg to the bed. Crap! Who'd wanna do that? He had no idea who, what, where, or why. In point of fact, he was drawing a complete blank, and that had him more than a tad worried. Bravado bubbled up inside him like an old monk's mantra; one thing was certain, pain or no pain; he was so not taking this lying down!

oOOo

TBC…..


	6. Mischievous Lil' Gray Butts

25

Warriors, Pink Cakes and 'lil Gray Butts by Cjay

**Mischievous Lil Gray Butts.**

_**Previously in Part Five of Warriors, Pink Cakes and Lil' Gray butts; another stirring chapter in the continuing adventures of that delectable hard candy confection, with the soft chewy center, Jack O'Neill: **__Separated by fate's caprice, Jack has gone missing. Teal'c's very existence is in jeopardy. But despite having been 'detained by the Asgard, Rowdy and Colonel Mitchell have secretly absconded with the X-303 in the hope of rescuing the duo. _

_Speaking of duos…._

Lost in silent contemplation, Jorgen's long fingers adjusted their coordinates. Perhaps he'd been foolish to bow to Loki's impetuous desires. But in truth his own enthusiasm matched that of the smaller Asgard seated beside him at the helm of their vessel. He was not generally given to rash action and yet, this little mission of Loki's felt right. Somehow, over the course of studying earthlings and their antiquated value system, he'd been seduced by their innate sense of honor.

"I too am wondering if we've made the correct decision." Loki's quiet whisper echoed within their silence. "Maybe…"

"Tut, tut Loki," Jorgen sighed dramatically. "Be assured, this **is** the right course. I comprehend your perceived responsibility to O'Neill…I too feel oddly compelled to action. We cannot let the humans perish."

"Nor shall we," Loki spouted passionately.

"Indeed." Jorgen chimed, graciously ignoring his companion's undignified zeal.

Oo~oO

Rowdy inhaled sharply, blinking away the icy sweat dripping into his eyes as the X-303 shifted abruptly into hyperdrive. Despite a warning from Mitchell, he'd been unprepared for the sick sensation in the pit of his stomach. The vast star field he'd only recently grown accustomed to wobbled and blurred like a cheap watercolor, adding to his barely suppressed horror. Panic beckoned, sliding her clammy fingers up his spine. Every instinct told him to bail. What the hell was a man who suffered from acute claustrophobia doing inside this glorified tin can zipping around the galaxy anyway?

As if from a distance, he heard Mitchell's voice droning on about the contemptible Asgards' 'uppity' attitude and took another deep steadying breath.

Rubbing a gloved hand over the small pocket in his flight suit where O'Neill's yo-yo rested, Rowdy closed his eyes. Suddenly, the analogy Uncle Jerome had shared with him popped into his head...Was that only a day or two ago? _"No matter where you throw it, how many twists and turns it takes, even when it becomes tangled in itself, a Yo-Yo never really loses its way… it remains secured by its string, true to its center, its heart if you will... That's what he clung to; it's what kept him sane."_

Although the roly-poly confectioner slash philosopher never said just who that '_him_' had been, Rowdy surmised Jerome was referring to a young Jack O'Neill. 'And, if it worked for a hard assed hero like the general…'

Smiling ruefully, Rowdy let Jerome's adage echo over and over inside his head, slowly letting go of his fear. O'Neill's confidence, symbolized by the gift of a simple wooden toy, along with a few idealistic words from a quirky candy peddler would be his lifeline.

Mitchell heard the change in his co-pilot's breathing and grinned. Hotcha, but the kid sure shifted fast. He'd refrained from remarking on the telltale lump visible along one long forearm of the major's otherwise sleek flight suit, hoping O'Neill's talisman would continue to steady the younger officer. Personally, Cam never understood O'Neill's reported fascination with said yo-yo. Nor did he buy the almost mystical effect the secondhand toy seemed to have on Mortensen. But then, he was a practical kind of space traveler and for the most part the romance men like Jackson found in their mutual occupation escaped him.

"Okay then, listen up, Major. I'm not the type to blow any sunshine up your skirt. We've no clear idea just what we're gonna find once we drop outta hyperspace. Might be we'll encounter nothing but clear space. Then again, we may find ourselves in an asteroid field."

"Oh, joy." Rowdy chirped sarcastically. "I think that metaphor about bugs in a jar still applies. I'm just hoping we don't get squished."

Oo~oO

Sam lounged against one wall of their accommodations; her agile mind alight with possibilities, her body language deceptively calm. She'd finished pouring over the minute scraps of information available in the Asgard database about the restricted area of space into which Astrid had jettisoned her general and Teal'c eons ago…well actually; mere minutes ago…and the results were less than satisfactory. "What could be taking them so long Daniel?"

"The Asgard?' Daniel echoed distractedly.

"Duh, ya think?" Sam snapped. Sometimes the man was so obtuse!

"Okay, okay." Daniel frowned ruefully. "No need for sarcasm."

"Well?" Sam demanded impatiently.

"I've got nothing," he responded calmly.

Sam squelched the urge to strangle him, just as the door slipped open revealing a serene Thor.

"My friends the High Council regrets they cannot offer any further assistance beyond expediting a rendezvous' with the USS Exeter." Placing a finger over his lipless mouth, Thor pressed a small silvery crystal he'd deftly concealed in his other hand. A not unpleasant hum began to reverberate within the confines of the room.

"Thor?" Sam questioned.

Understanding Sam's terse inquiry, Thor blinked lazily. "It's a jamming device, we can now speak freely."

"About?" Daniel crossed his arms protectively around his middle.

"About your interference, or should we say assistance…and the suspicious absence of the X-303 and her crew," Thor responded neutrally.

"Oh, that."

"You know Dr. Jackson, with each passing year you become more and more like our dear friend O'Neill." Despite the censure in his tone, Thor's liquid eyes seemed to sparkle with mirth. "I am quite sure you are innocent of any involvement in the good doctor's chicanery Samantha. However, I expect you condone it."

Shrugging, Sam refused to answer.

"Not to worry, the council is ignorant of these recent events."

Exchanging a look with Daniel, Sam arched a derisive eyebrow and snorted softly. "Like we care."

Dismissing her acid response, Thor adjusted a series of dark crystals along a nearby console. "Happily, several of our more inquisitive brethren have apparently taken a page from your book Daniel."

"Sorry?" The good doctor's forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"Our two scientific friends have reverted to subterfuge…"

"Excuse me," Daniel interrupted. "Are you referring to Loki and Jorgen?"

"I am indeed. Shortly after Colonel Mitchell's rather 'unforeseen' exodus the pair quietly left aboard Loki's research vessel."

"Because?"

"Because they know a great deal more about the peril O'Neill, Teal'c, and now, Colonel Mitchell and his companion face." Thor explained patiently. "Did you really think we Asgard sanctioned that area of space on a whim?"

"Well, no…"

"Please explain, Thor." Sam's blue eyes flooded with dread.

"Loki is the foremost expert on this matter, Samantha." Thor's voice vibrated with emotion. "And, to be frank, he left without enlightening me."

"So," Daniel surmised, adjusting his glasses thoughtfully. "Presumably they've gone after Mitchell and the major."

"That is my assumption, yes."

"Isn't there anything more you can do Thor?" Sam whispered exchanging a worried glance with Daniel.

"My hands are effectively tied. All we can do now is hope."

Oo~oO

The X-303 dropped out of hyperspace and into a dense mass of debris surrounding a celestial body.

"Crap!" Mitchell expelled between clenched teeth. Tightening his grip on the joystick, he banked sharply, narrowly avoiding what appeared to be a derelict spaceship only to glance off a chunk of crystalline rock the size of a Volkswagen, directly into the path of something so large that nothing was visible beyond it.

"Mother of…" Rowdy yelped, as they spun wildly.

"Hang on, we're going in!"

Oo~oO

Teal'c lay unmoving, surrounded by a vast wasteland of glittering multihued shards. Cocooned within kel'no'reem's death-like spell, he drifted for a time. The events of the past several days cascaded through his mind like bits of a puzzle.

Slowly, his body found a modicum of power and with it perhaps, a lifesaving fragment of memory. _'Everyone has their weaknesses…even an invulnerable Jaffa.' _

Without bothering to open his heavy-lidded eyes or fully rouse from his trance-like state, his questing fingers roamed deep inside one ruined pocket of his torn uniform trousers and came away with a damply matted cellophane wrapped packet. Ripping it open with his teeth, he greedily forced the spongy contents into his mouth. His desiccated salivary glands responded immediately, flooding his mouth with sugary sweetness, eliciting an involuntary sigh of gratitude. O'Neill's jovial thoughtfulness would provide a weary old soldier a stay of execution yet again.

Oo~oO

Rowdy braced for an impact that never came. Instead, he found himself enveloped by a brilliant blaze of light. Suspended for an interminable millisecond, he had just enough time to wonder if this was a good thing before feeling gravity's pull. Instead of the expected nerve-shattering pain, his body was miraculously, and ever so gently, deposited beside Mitchell in front of a pair of oddly familiar aliens.

The colonel reached out, grasping Rowdy's left shoulder firmly and whispered, "Good to see you in one piece kid." Releasing his grip, the relieved grin faded quickly as his eyes swept the perimeter of the room. "But where's my ship?"

The Asgard they'd come to know as Loki came rushing forward, giving Rowdy little time to fully appreciate the resolute fury, tinged with sorrow, he'd glimpsed in the major's sandy eyes.

"Greetings," Loki began.

"Greetings my ass!" Mitchell growled, halting the little alien's progress. "What the hell are you two little busybodies up to now?! And just where is the X-303?"

"Tsk, Tsk... I should think the whereabouts of your doomed ship would be quite obvious. We arrived barely in time to rescue the both of you." Jorgen responded fluidly from his place at the control panel. "Really, Colonel Mitchell I do believe you should consider emulating Major Mortensen's calm demeanor. One would think that we had not just plucked you from a most unwelcome fate. Yes, in fact one might remind you that the alternative would have been a fiery demise."

Despite the loss of the ship, Rowdy had to concur. Stepping forward with smooth determination, he kindly patted Loki's bald misshaped head. "I for one am most grateful for your timely interference."

Noting Colonel Mitchell's apoplectic expression, Jorgen chuckled and amended dryly, "Calm, friendly and 'polite' demeanor."

Shooting Mortensen a narrow-eyed glare, Mitchell crossed his arms refusing to be cowed. "Get to the point Jorgen. Why are you here?"

"We came to save you, of course." Loki trilled happily.

"Do tell?" Mitchell snapped caustically. "What made you two little bas…"

Ignoring protocol for the sake of harmony, Rowdy cleared his throat loudly.

"Ah…You all," Mitchell amended, rolling his eyes. "…suspect we'd need saving?"

"Loki is our foremost authority on this particular region of space."

"Of course he is," Mitchell snorted tossing Mortensen an exasperated look. "Why do I ask these questions?"

"Indeed, why?" Jorgen volleyed.

Fearing the colonel might throttle one or both of the Asgard, Rowdy coughed dramatically. "I believe we deserve a tad more information.

Rising from the command chair, Jorgen strode majestically around the earthmen, causing the pair to pivot neatly in order to keep him in sight. Stopping directly in front of the translucent bulkhead, he looked outward. "What you see before you is the remains of what was once a solar system; one quite similar to that of your own. In point of fact, the gravitational properties surrounding these few surviving celestial bodies are much like that of your Saturn or Uranus. Each has a ring, or disk of debris orbiting at intervals consisting of various forms of matter such as gases and ice particles."

Feeling a longwinded explanation coming on, Mitchell ran an exasperated hand over the tense muscles at the back of his neck. "I suppose it'd be a waste of breath to insist on the short version."

"Unlike you, Colonel Mitchell, I find it difficult to be laconic." Turning, the taller of the diminutive Asgard tilted his small pointy chin to gaze at the taller human intently. "Shall I continue?"

Pursing his lips, Mitchell offered an abbreviated nod.

"We postulated your trajectory and realized that your ship was likely to exit hyperspace in the midst of the largest of said debris fields orbiting what was once this solar system's moon. It consists of the fragmented remains of a significant armada of space vessels tragically reduced to useless bits of scarred metal, and that of several equally decimated planets."

"Whoa," Stunned, Rowdy took in the massive destruction displayed before them.

"The X303's sensors should have detected that field and recalculated our exit from hyperspace…"

"As Jorgen has stated, I am an expert on this region of the galaxy, Colonel Mitchell." Loki chimed in flatly. "Such a happy outcome here is not possible."

Something in the little alien's lack of inflection seemed off to Rowdy. "Precisely why are you such an expert, Loki?"

"I suspect this has something to do with your little 'pal's' sordid past." Cam interjected acidly, "You see Mortensen, in point of fact, until very recently our benevolent little alien scientist here ran amok."

"I've read General O'Neill's file."

"Have you now?" Mitchell perused the junior officer calmly.

"Yes, Sir." Rowdy replied evenly.

Mitchell contemplated the major soberly for several seconds before continuing his sarcastic narrative. "Yes sir-ree-bob, lil' old Loki here spent his time flitting from planet to planet like some demented bee just messing with unsuspecting peoples DNA."

"That is beside the point…"

"Is it?"

"A planet once orbited the celestial body on which your friend Teal'c's signature was located," Jorgen continued staunchly. "Unfortunately, the base structures of this system's planetary bodies were reduced by immense thermal nuclear explosions to their most base elemental form, crystalline. Or, what you earthlings call quartz crystal. And, as you no doubt are both aware, crystals can exhibit strong semi-conducting properties; which we surmised would negatively influence the controls aboard the X-303. Additionally, this particular field's rubble has an added electronic component that effectively interferes with any and all types of communication."

"Well that explains why the X-303 exited hyper-space in the midst of all the space junk." Mitchell responded flatly.

It seemed to Rowdy that Jorgen's overblown account was as much camouflage as information. Crouching down, he gazed pointedly into Loki's large almond-shaped eyes. "I think there is more to this particular story?"

"Yes, there is more to the saga." Shamed, Loki turned away from the major's penetrating stare. "I was once the deity in this part of the galaxy."

"And?" Rowdy persisted, ignoring the hollow feeling of dread blooming in his gut.

"Suffice it to say my perceptive young friend, being a god has its downside," he admitted softly.

Oo~oO

Stifling a sudden urge to brandish his newly acquired wand of power, Hubbard hustled his little legs through the village. Boudicca's tutelage had taken many hours and thus, he'd been unable to see to the Onall's needs personally. He'd been loath to delegate the mighty one's care to others, yet the wizened elders insisted. The Druids, Earlap and Orion, reported they'd only recently seen to the great lord's injuries, applying fresh sap from the Dhrupad plant. They'd assured Hubbard that the great one slumbered peacefully still; and that the Lord of Aurora was safe enough inside the healing hut, else they would not have deserted him.

Yet, even from some distance away, infused by his newly earned abilities, Hubbard sensed this was not so.

The small cottage sat well within the village borders, but for the sake of solitude well away from the marketplace and its bustle. Surprisingly, despite their rampant curiosity, his people had accepted that the lord needed his privacy to heal and were keeping to their business. Accordingly, he found the immediate area deserted, but far from peaceful. Strange words, the meaning of which escaped the little Ynis Prydain, loudly greeted his approach, making it very clear the occupant of the hut no longer slept; and that he was very displeased indeed.

Taking a deep steadying breath Hubbard pushed aside the leather door covering. An emerald shaft of late afternoon's light spilled inward creating a halo effect that surrounded and partially illuminated the dwelling's sole occupant causing his silvered head to glow in god-like fashion. Awed, Hubbard gasped.

The great lord's dark gaze swiveled sharply, his obsidian eyes reflecting the green glow, seemingly ablaze with an unholy fire. "Give me one damned reason why I shouldn't drop you where you stand."

Stunned by the sheer menacing anger in those few short words, Hubbard froze, his little Cupid's bow mouth rounded in dismay.

"Great, just freaking great, the kid's a half-wit," Onall muttered through clenched teeth, "Listen carefully junior 'cuz the fate of your miniscule little butt depends on you doing precisely as I say." Pointing at his bound limb, he growled ominously, "The leg, untie it now!"

Gulping loudly, Hubbard tucked his wand under one chubby arm and turned his palms upward in supplication. "I beseech you to have mercy on your poor servant exalted one, no insult was intended. The Druids secured your injured limb in order to prevent additional damage."

"A likely story," Onall scoffed darkly, "Druids my ass."

"My Lord, I do **not **lie." Hubbard rebounded indignantly.

"Ya don't say." The great one snorted.

"I do indeed, sir."

"Hoity-toity lil' varmint ain't ya?"

Hubbard had no idea what the term 'hoity-toity' meant, but he surmised it was not a compliment. Keeping a wary eye on the cot's occupant, the little Pict approached cautiously. Hesitating briefly, he began slowly removing the bands binding the great one's damaged leg. "The wound must be painful still. Perhaps my lord would allow me to use my modest gift for healing?"

When only silence greeted him, Hubbard changed tactics. "Noble one, you saved me from certain death. I am henceforth your most loyal and grateful servant…I must insist you allow me this small boon."

"Any needles involved in this so called boon?"

"My lord, I do not know what a needle may be, but I assure you the means I shall employ is quite necessary to complete the curative." Hubbard hoped his sincerity and genuine concern would win the great one's trust.

"Spoken like a true Napoleonic Power Monger!" Grimacing, Onall rose slowly up on his elbows. Squinting thoughtfully, he cocked one silvered eyebrow and stared directly into Hubbard's button-blue eyes, his own dark orbs alight with green-tinged fire.

Time seemed to stand still as Hubbard valiantly held his ground allowing the Onall to probe his soul.

Finally, a loud sigh issued forth from the great one's bruised lips, "Fine kid, just try not to finish me."

"Ay, my lord." Hubbard agreed happily.

"And stop calling me 'my lord,'… Onall demanded irritably. "I just might get pissed off and strangle you."

"Ay, my…"

"I'm not kidding around here junior…" Onall continued with a snarl. "I am not your lord… crap, makes me sound like a damn Nancy-boy."

"What then shall I call you?" Hubbard inquired reverently.

"I've got no frigging idea, kid." Onall replied wearily. "Don't I have a nice plain name?"

Hearing the barely concealed sense of loss and confusion in the great one's tone realization dawned. Boudicca was correct. The blow to the mighty one's head must have indeed addled his wits. It would be Hubbard's vast honor to assist in restoring Lord Onall's mind so that he might then begin to heal himself properly. "You are Onall, the Great Lord of the Aurora."

"That's some moniker…just lose the 'Great Lord of Aurora' part." Onall carped distastefully. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he settled back and exhaled slowly, trying to get his bearings.

"With your permission, I shall henceforth address you as Onall."

"Well, that at least has a familiar ring to it." Onall whispered. He'd settle for that for now, but it was a sure bet there was a great deal more to this whole bizarre scenario. Yep, something mighty big was missing. Still, the kid seemed harmless enough and for the moment he was just too dizzy to care.

Hubbard carefully drew forth his wand. Channeling the energy within, he rested a gentle hand against the great one's brow.

0~~0

"Downside?" Mitchell echoed rudely. "Specifically what kind of 'downside' are we talking here…Death? ...Mayhem? Destruction? What?!"

Loki's small shoulders slumped further with each vehement accusation. "All are possibilities I'm afraid."

"Do not be nonsensical," Jorgen reasoned analytically. "You've no way of knowing what precisely has transpired in the millennia since your last contact with these Ynis Prydain."

"Loki," Rowdy stooped further to catch the little alien's downcast eyes. "I've always found that sharing a problem with a friend helps."

"Friend?" Loki questioned, looking up hopefully. "You?"

"Uh yeah," Rowdy nodded. "Despite the utterly revolting tea you forced me to swill, I'd say we are. Now spill it. What exactly has your nonexistent panties in a twist?"

"As you are no doubt aware, O'Neill's genetic makeup differs somewhat from that of the majority of your people…."

"If you're referring to the 'Ancient' gene, he is not alone." Mitchell interjected testily. "We've estimated approximately one in 500,000 of earth's humans carry some form of that gene."

"Indeed, Colonel Mitchell." Jorgen agreed patiently. "Shall we allow Loki to continue?"

"It is not the presence of the Ancient gene alone that makes your general so unique. Due to his multiple exposures to the knowledge of the Ancients, both O'Neill's DNA and his brain chemistry have been additionally altered." Loki paused dramatically. "A fact which makes him entirely an entity unto himself…"

"Is he aware of this?" Rowdy asked quietly, his gut twisting with concern.

"It is my belief that he is quite aware." Jorgen stated baldy. "However, your O'Neill has an odd tendency to dismiss any information which might single him out or affect him disproportionately."

"Jorgen finds O'Neill an interesting puzzle." Loki added with a sigh.

"Don't we all." Mitchell snorted baldly, rubbing a hand over his aching forehead.

"I believe O'Neill has no wish to cause any undue distress." Loki surmised thoughtfully. "Since our first encounter, his aversion to introspection has been most apparent."

"More likely, he's worried that some young medical officer or the staff shrink at the Pentagon would have at him. The general hates needles and he despises psychiatry." Mitchell put forth with a shudder.

"Who can blame him? Your people's medical practices remain very primitive." Jorgen granted with a sniff.

Moving to a low bench situated nearby, Rowdy sat down. "And the general's unique physiology is pertinent to our current situation how?"

Noting a change in the major's aura, Loki watched him surreptitiously. "As Colonel Mitchell mentioned, we've been looking for a genetically advanced race in order to enhance our cloning techniques for many generations. In this pursuit, we made contact with the inhabitants of this solar system approximately 1500 of your earth years ago."

Rowdy shifted on the hard bench. "I remember reading one of the general's old mission reports about a treaty of protection with the system lords and that many on those worlds view the Asgard as Gods."

"Yes that is so. At that time, my actions were sanctioned by the High Council. The civilization that once existed here was both advanced and spiritual. The populace, thinking me a benevolent divinity, willingly allowed my research. I made some progress. Until I discovered that these people, the Ynis Prydain, also carried the Ancient gene…"

"Insert ominous organ music here," Mitchell snarked edgily.

"I had been called home to meet with the council regarding my findings. Unbeknownst to me, one of my assistants deliberately altered the DNA of a local organism. He then spliced it into that of a handful of young volunteers hoping it would enhance their body's ability to accept an Asgard consciousness."

Rowdy's heart lurched, "Organism…as in a disease?"

"Shades of Nirti!" Incensed, Mitchell began to pace. "I hope your sanctimonious High Council punished the little bugger."

"I assure you Colonel Mitchell his punishment more than fit his crime." Jorgen guaranteed him frostily.

"The subjects sickened and died. The organism continued to mutate into a new and more virulent form and quickly spread throughout the population." Loki droned on as if in a trace. "I discovered this villainy too late. I returned to find the Ynis Prydain decimated and the few survivors irreparably changed."

"Changed how?" The muscles in Rowdy's neck knotted tightly.

"How about getting to the point? Not to be crass, but we don't have time for a lengthy pity party here."

"Begging your pardon, Colonel Mitchell," Rowdy interrupted softly, offering his superior officer a censuring frown.

Rolling his eyes, Mitchell reined in his vexation with visible effort. "Please go on Loki."

"I was able to mitigate the effects only partially. Suffice it to say that much like O'Neill's clone, their bodies will always be that of children." Self-loathing echoed in Loki's tone.

"I understand that without General O'Neill's insistence his clone would have died." Rowdy prodded gently.

"Indeed, O'Neill was most benevolent." Loki's slim form seemed to droop like an abandoned hothouse flower. "It was Commander Thor who ensured the clone's survival."

"Let us reiterate that thanks to Loki's timely return the Ynis Prydain did not all wither and die." Jorgen moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with his fellow Asgard.

"Okay," Rowdy began thoughtfully. "So short people…

"Not so fast Mortensen," Mitchell snapped. "I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop here."

"As a rule, I find your rude idioms rather intriguing, Colonel Mitchell." Jorgen chided sullenly. "However, we are attempting to enlighten not deceive."

"Well get on with it then, we've got people in peril!"

"The alteration in DNA enhanced the Ynis Prydains' ability to fully employ the Ancient gene. Unfortunately without the wisdom the Ancients acquired over many millennia, they failed to prudently administer such vast power." The little Asgard expanded pointedly. "The debris field you see around you is the result of those survivors misuse of the gene. Effectively, they destroyed most of their solar system in a matter of years."

"They're all dead then."

"No." Loki took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "I could not allow that. I plucked a handful of them from the last space vessel just before it imploded. Using our technology, I then burrowed a series of caverns deep within the remaining moon's core, creating a subterranean world, similar to Earth's rainforest, to aid in their survival."

"I get it now. Since we were suddenly able to locate Teal'c's beacon, you two brainiacs believe Astrid banished the general and Teal'c into said forest?" Mitchell stated flatly, glancing at the blip flashing on the star map.

A small flame ignited within Rowdy's hazel eyes. "So he…"

"Escaped the caverns somehow," Jorgen supplied dramatically. "The Jaffa's signal is coming from the scarred and melted surface of that moon. Where there is no food, no water and no shelter. I believe O'Neill would label it as a death trap."

"Well the X-303 is part of that debris field now. So, what's the plan Stan?"

"How about using your transporter beam?" Rowdy asked hopefully. "That always worked on Star Trek."

"This ain't TV kid." Mitchell informed him with a smirk.

"I am sorry major, but considering the unpredictable and intrusive properties of both the lunar surface and the ring of space debris, I believe any such attempt would be doomed to failure." Jorgen pronounced dismally.

"Any other options?" Mitchell barked impatiently.

The two Asgard exchanged a meaningful glance. "We have another small vessel aboard…"

"Fine, Mortensen and I will take it. Hell, I can maneuver through anything given enough warning. You two can make yourselves useful and keep me abreast of the space junks' trajectory from up here."

"Sadly, our vessel was made to accommodate three, perhaps four Asgard, and as you are aware we are much smaller than a human…if the ship is to accommodate the Jaffa's massive form…"

"Okay, I get it." Waving a hand in Rowdy's direction, Mitchell grudgingly capitulated. "So, seeing as how the kid here is one long drink of water, I'll go myself."

"Loki did you hear that? A long drink of water denoting our young major's impressive height."

"No, that will not do." Ignoring his comrade's misplaced passion, Loki's bald head swiveled back and forth adamantly. "Jorgen shall accompany you and 'watch your back.' I believe is the term."

"Ah, no…"

"My presence is not negotiable, Colonel Mitchell." Jorgen stated flatly.

"Fine," Mitchell agreed petulantly, yanking the cuff of his flight glove. "Why do I feel like I've just jumped from the pan and into the fire?"

"Ah, yet another colorful colloquialism," Jorgen trilled, unable to continue stifling his zeal.

"Jorgen, I believe your interest in the colonel's stylistic expressions is ill-timed at present." Loki censured.

Rowdy rubbed an uneasy hand along the back of his neck worrying the kinks there. "What about General O'Neill? I mean where in the heck is he? I for one refuse to believe he's…"

Mitchell had been wondering the same thing. "Look kid, the truth is those tracking devices aren't infallible."

"Do not be unduly concerned, I've been considering that conundrum."

"Excuse me?"

Moving toward one of the Asgard control platforms, Loki began to manipulate a set of tear shaped green crystals. "Jorgen theorized that O'Neill's signal is not apparent due to the dampening effects of the wealth of crystalline fragments on the surface. However it is my assertion that the Ynis Prydain have welcomed him home."

Mitchell arched a skeptical brow. "Because?"

"As indicated previously, the Ancient gene is common amongst them. I am quite confident that they have therefore recognized him as one of their own."

"The man is six feet two sans his boots…I'd hardly classify him as 'short' even if he does seem child-like on occasion." Rocking back on his heels, the colonel grinned wryly. "And besides, knowing O'Neill he'd have given them his full name, rank and serial number."

"Ah, but you see O'Neill's coming has been foretold."

"How's that exactly?"

"They are a Druidic culture; their tradition is Pictish - a mixture of Earth's Celtic and Norse cultures. They believe their fate will be altered by the coming of a set of immortal heralds."

As the little Asgard moved the green crystals about on the onyx surface of the control panel, the star field displayed on the view screen above his head winked out. Slowly, an old earth-style painting took shape, filling the darkened screen.

A pair of striking warriors stood at the prow of a Norse ship as it sailed into a turbulent storm. The first stood in profile, his long sword held aloft in triumph. He wore no helm, his angular face turned into the wind, exposing his long silver hair to the breeze. Behind him stood a dark Moor wearing a winged helmet that sported a glittering circular seal centered above his brows. The Moor gazed serenely forward, his right fist clenched tightly in tribute, resting over his heart.

"Behold, Onall, the silver Lord of the Dawn, and his dark brother Tymon, Lord of the Night. Who are both sacred messengers of the gods, and harbingers of fate."

Mitchell swore softly, noting the uncanny resemblance to O'Neill and Teal'c.

Rowdy inhaled sharply. "This is so not good." He'd learned a bit of Norse lore at his granddaddy's knee. The nagging sense of alarm in the pit of his stomach increased exponentially. "Ah Loki, these Druids…do they practice…"

"Human sacrifice?" Jorgen finished for him.

"Doubtful." Loki hastened to reassure.

"But you said you've had no contact with them for almost a thousand years." Colonel Mitchell reminded the pair.

"It hardly seems likely given the small number of survivors." Jorgen expounded. "No Colonel Mitchell, life would have been even more precious given their tragic history."

Rowdy wasn't so sure. "Still, I sure wish his signal would pop up on the grid."

"First things first, Mortensen." Mitchell's usually expressive face seemed to be made of granite.

"Yes sir, Colonel. I understand." Jumping up, Rowdy strode over to stand beside Loki. "The sooner we rescue Teal'c, the sooner we figure a way to locate the general."

"Right. Lead on, Jorgen"

Rowdy stood silently as the little Asgard and the tall colonel left the control room together.

"Do not be unduly concerned, Major Mortensen. Jorgen is a most able pilot."

"As is, the colonel." Rowdy nodded distractedly. "Teal'c is in good hands. I just can't stop worrying over the general. What do you suppose is happening to him? Can we be sure your former little minions are as friendly as you believe?"

"As I informed you earlier, O'Neill's experience with the Ancient repository of knowledge and his genetics are unique. Still, they should be able to sense his inherent similarity to themselves." Loki informed him gently. "It is the Picts other known practices which are of greater import here. The Ynis Prydain often used the Ancient gene for healing and communication. It is this prospect which has me anxious for your general's safety."

"Because?"

"Exposing O'Neill yet again to the raw power of the Ancient's could prove to be extraordinarily disastrous."

O~O…TBC


End file.
